Duru's Memoir
by Punk19
Summary: Before Master Vile, and his father, KurukVile, there was DuruVile and this is his story.
1. Prologue: The Birth of an Heir

1:45 a.m.; Gamma Vile—Raal's Residence

Loud moans, mild screams, and yelps of pain reverberated down the stone hallway. While the sounds bounced from the metal torches, they didn't cause anything to fall or break. Even though they were loud, and everyone in the house heard them, they weren't given a big reaction—an example of this occurred when the four Goteian, or goat-like, women looked up. All the women did was look around before returning to work; if not for two of them knowing why the calls were being made, and having experienced and gone through them twice while working the building, they wouldn't do this. The same went with the other women, who were warned about them.

The one who was making the calls had come in two days ago. Along with being very round, she was fatigued. The maids knew she was eight months, three weeks, and two days along with child—with this being known, they weren't surprised to hear that she woke to find that her water was broken.

Due to the scream that the woman expressed after seeing what she did, her fiancé was thrown out of bed. Their employer came close to jumping from his and his wife's bed, while most of the staff were aroused from a sleep that seemed much too light. As was only natural, the woman was lifted from where she was then carried to the chamber where she was to give birth in. The fiancé was doing as any other man would in pacing before the door to the room that his woman was in; the maids knew that he was trying to keep himself from gnawing his fingernails off.

"How long has she been in labor again?" the younger of the maids asked in a low whisper.

"Two hours," the older of the maids replied. "There's no telling how long she'll go before the baby's born."

"Let's hope, for our Master's son and daughter-in-law's sake, it won't be much longer." the second oldest of the maids spoke. "Eleven children is a lot, and they've not a one to account for."

"Going by her birth-calls, it'll be a while more." the older of the younger maids said. "She'd be raising the roof if she was closer to delivery."

2:01 a.m.; Outside of the Birthing Chamber

His mind was assaulted as he did his dance before the room that his woman was in. While most of his thoughts were on his beloved, the rest were on the child that she was carrying and what may or may not happen when it was born. He was very aware of the fact that, if she gave birth successfully, he'd rip the door back then rush to her; after reaching her, he'd see their newborn then experience what he did when his other surviving children were born. The fact on what he'd do if the birth wasn't successful was known too—if it happened, he'd go in normally then go to her. After reaching her side, he'd do his usual in giving her comfort over losing yet another child; while doing so, he'd give himself comfort too.

"Our arrival here... it wasn't normal." ShaamVile thought.

Hasty was more like it. If not for the heavy rains, and sudden whirlwind, their property wouldn't of become unstable. With their home not being safe to live in, they had to move and fast; while his fiancée tried to help in packing their stuff, her belly, and the baby that was in it, prevented her from doing much. He did most of the packing before grabbing her then fleeing to where they were.

His father was very willing to let them stay. The storm was still happening when they arrived, but it wasn't as bad as it was at their place. When they reached their destination, he found his fiancée as being too tired to move much less stand; with her being so fatigued, he took the bags in then returned for her. After entering the house for the second time, he took her to the room that they were given then set her down. He dried her while talking to her then put her in bed. He should of known that the birth would be sooner than expected—shortly after waking on the morning following their arrival, she started refusing the intake of food and drink. She also wanted to only sleep. He had spent most of his time with her; with so much happening in the last forty-eight hours, he was worried about her.

While a normal man would think about his unborn child's gender, he didn't. With him and Egla going through eleven prior pregnancies, which all ended in failure, he didn't dare think of the gender, or of what it was to be named after being born. Naturally, two names were picked—unlike the last time, where he was allowed to name their unborn, Egla had dibs on naming this one. Detassa Awaha for a girl and Duru Bolushi for a boy; while he detested the middle names for their child, and wasn't too keen on the first or given names, he couldn't do a thing to sway her from giving them to the child that she carried.

Other than AenalaVile Daiba Surfeit, his third child by his first and only wife, who was born deceased, and EpuvinaVile Dlai Surfeit, his fourth child by his first fiancée, who was also born deceased, he had no D-named offspring. A D-name located in the middle of a person's name was often over-looked, while the first was what one knew and spoke the most; Detassa and Duru just didn't seem that strong a name to him. He had created so many offspring over the many thousands of years and, sadly, he only had two survivors. If this one survived being born, and then the first twenty-four hours, he'd be ecstatic. So would his beloved, who wanted to be a mother but was also dragged down by her grief over so many failed pregnancies. If this baby didn't make it from the womb, he'd be doing as he promised he would.

Bye bye testes. The holders of the juices. The factory machines that made child-bearing possible. He promised just prior to this pregnancy that he'd snip them if their next child was born deceased, or passed shortly after birth. While his fiancée seemed to now want him to cast that promise to the side, he still wished to uphold it. His Egla meant the Universe to him; he'd lick her feet, then the floor that she stepped on... he'd jump into a pool of air-less water if she said for him to. She was his everything... to see her so depressed over their lack of having healthy, living offspring was horrible. Eleven pregnancies, spanning over nearly twelve thousand years, was too much for a woman to handle. Like with Egla, he grieved them babies. The lost chances to be a parent. The lost chances to hold, care for, cry, and then smile and cry some more, over the children that they produced together... It was too much for a man to handle as well, though he did try his best to handle it the best he could.

"It's a struggle, Shaam. Why force me to endure another when I've already shown that I can't have any?" his fiancée said about fifty years after their last child was lost.

His fiancée , he remembered, went on The Pill right after their last was lost. The Pill was a new thing on market. It was said to prevent a woman from getting pregnant; it was also said to have a number of side effects to it, and not work for some women—with this being known, he detested her use of it right away. In his mind, there were other ways to prevent a pregnancy from happening—the jockey-sleeve, or thing that he could fit around his penis during intercourse, for him for example. His beloved hadn't listened to him; the Pill was bought in plenty then taken once-daily. After fifty years of the dreaded thing being taken, he started the gentle process of asking for another try.

"You're not the cause of our last's demise, MiLass." he returned. "That scissorbill of a papa of yours was what caused it."

Their first child was in the womb for nineteen happy weeks before perishing. His fiancée's parents were the cause for it to happen. They came to his residence without getting permission first, then a fight happened. Horrible words were spread, then a physical brawl happened. His fiancée's father took his shoe from his foot then threw it at her. Ten hours later, she found a bloody bundle between her legs. Burying that one was tough on both of them; the next child that they conceived was only in the womb for ten weeks before perishing. Like with the prior pregnancy, his fiancée's father was the cause of it happening. He caused her stress all during them ten weeks, and she lost the baby because of it.

Their prior pregnancy was also lost thanks to her father. He was outside, and dealing with one of his mares, who suddenly gave birth then turned on her newborn, at the time. A scream was heard, then, shortly after, one of his staff came running out to grab him. His fiancée and her father were fighting by the stairs, he was told; his beloved, who was dealing with the woes of pregnancy, had thrown her arms at the man, who stepped out of the way to avoid her assault, then she fell down. Lorboriann, the scoundrel who shouldn't of been in his place to begin with, was at her side. Though acting like a concerned parent, his face had worn a shroud of triumph. Their last was lost five hours later. Miscarriage due to the stress of her fall.

Lorboriann and his bitch of a wife had never liked him. They were out to keep him from their daughter from the start, and they also did their best to keep their daughter from shaming herself, and them, by giving birth to a child that he helped to make. No sympathies were shown between the two when they lost babies; they had, in a way, looked perfectly content in knowing that their attempt to have a child was a failure. He sometimes wondered if they weren't the cause for their woes in the parenting department.

"One more, Egla. One more, then I won't pester you anymore." he said. They were in the kitchen, and at the table, when this talk occurred. "I'll have them cut if we lose it, or its born still, or is alive then passes shortly after the birth. I'll do the procedure with you in the room, if it makes you happy."

"I can't ask for you to do that." his beloved replied. "I love you the way you are. You'll be a changed man if—"

"I'll still be the same without them," he returned. "Egla, while a man holds his boals high, I'll be fine without them. Your happiness is what's important to me."

"No, you won't. What oaf do you take me for?" his beloved shot. "I wasn't born yesterday, or on Stupid Street, Shaam. I know you all too well."

It took another ten years before she said yes. Baby number twelve was conceived soon after she agreed to his plan then, at around the six-month mark, she started trying to get him to drop it. Though wanting to—a man wasn't a man without his units, and he was rather attached to his—, he also wanted to ensure his loyalty to her. Lorboriann and Amjufaria knew nothing of this pregnancy—if they were the cause of their continual pregnancy losses, then, maybe, by keeping them in the dark, this one would live and be healthy.

"How much longer?" ShaamVile wondered. "How much longer before the scream of despair, or a baby cry, is heard?"

5:35 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

"Ow, ow, ow!" Egla groaned as she paced the room.

"Keep walking, dear." her mother-in-law said. "You're at six now; the more you walk, the faster you'll dilate."

That's what she said an hour ago... And the hour before, and the hour before... She was starting to wonder if something was wrong. Was the baby positioned right? Was it too big to pass through safely? Was it alive? Was she not dilating enough because it was dead—was her body sensing that, and keeping her from giving birth because of it? Three days ago, the baby was a kicking machine; as of the last two days, it was still. She felt no movement... no signs of life. She had kept this from her fiancé; he was so determined to keep his horrible promise in getting her testicles cut after this one was born—she didn't want them to be harmed, or for him to be changed. She loved him; like her fiancé, she was totally devoted to him, and would do anything for him. Nearly twelve thousand years after their first meeting, she still felt so much love and affection for him. The loss of babies, while hard on the both of them, hadn't caused a break in their love or affection for one another. Though wanting to be a mother, and annoyed over the loss of so many babies, she still wanted to be with him, and be the mother of his children. If he had the procedure done, she'd be lacking one of them desires. How could they have babies if he wasn't intact between the legs?

While she knew she'd still love him regardless of the procedure being done, she was afraid that he'd grow fat and uninterested in her. She had heard stories of how men got after their balls were cut—they got fat, slow, and uninterested in their partners... she didn't want that. She wanted her man to stay the way he was—the muscle; the machine in the bed; the ever loving and affectionate; the conqueror... she wanted all of that to remain intact. Didn't she have good example in her beloved's younger brother? The poor man was rendered unable to produce some two thousand years ago; he had no ambition to do anything, and his movements were slow and mechanical-like. She didn't want that to happen to Shaam. Shaam must remain the way he is; she'd fight him and hard, regardless of the outcome of this.

"The baby's fine. It was just sleeping—taking in a good nap before being born." Egla thought.

Her fiancé's personal physician was keeping tabs on this pregnancy from the start. There were plenty of sonograms in the top drawer of her dresser, and there were also the two video's that showed her baby moving in the womb in her jewelry and wardrobe room. The crevice that was in that room was full of all sorts of things—photographs of her and Shaam, their children, of them with their children, a bunch of diaries, etc. Would all of what was in her dresser be added to that stash, or would it be put it in a book? There were two books in that room, and both were made by her—one was pink, and had a white lace trim border and decoration, while the other was blue, and had a silver lace trim border and decoration.

Would a DetassaVile Awaha Surfeit be added to the name-tag of the pink book, or would a DuruVile Bolushi Surfeit be added to the other book's tag? She and Shaam had a thing going on with the naming of their children—they'd be fair in naming them; she'd name one, then the following one would be named by him, and so on. With the loss of their prior pregnancy, she wasn't able to pin or think up any names—with it being in her womb for only five weeks, she wasn't able to do much of anything to prepare for it. Technically, her fiancé was suppose to be the one to name their current unborn.

"It's your turn, Shaam." she remembered saying.

"While true, here's a truer fact—you didn't have a chance to name or even bond with our prior baby. You have this one by default, MiLass." her fiancé said.

"That's not fair to you."

"Neither is me placing a name to our current baby when you weren't allowed to do that with our prior one."

After having a little talk on who had the right to name their current baby, she picked out two names. She knew he didn't like the names that were picked but she thought they were lovely, and suiting. Detassa had a pretty, feminine sound to it; it'd go well with her fiancé's surname. Duru was a strong name that could be used by one of the male gender. Neither were used by the general public—the Surfeit family went by names that were either rare or unheard of; those two sure fit the buck. She wanted her young to follow in that tradition.

"Ow!" Egla screamed, then ducked down. Her long, white hair touched the floor; her back arched towards the ceiling; she clutched at her belly, then stood up. That contraction was a bad one! She was feeling them at every five minute intervals; why wasn't she dilated more?

While the experience of feeling the pain was good, she told herself to think about something else.

The storm that brought them to her in-law's residence—she latched onto that. The storm, its howling winds and wind-swept rain, and the whirlwinds... Her fiancé said that it'd not be a bad one, yet a whirlwind struck the western side of his property before doing damage to its middle. She was asleep at the time; waking to hearing the roar of the whirlie was horrible, and her baby was just kicking so much... It was like it was trying to get to a safe place. Shaam and she were in the eastern side of the property. Safe from harm, but not for long—the whirlie made it so his property was unstable, so they needed to get out and fast. She had tried to help but her fatigue, and frantic, stressed baby, had prevented her from doing so. Could the storm of done something? Made her baby get so stressed that it had a heart attack while in the womb? Could babies have heart attacks before being born?

The man who sired her fiancé let them in with no fuss. He just said for them to come in, settle down, then get some sleep. The man's wife had said something about her looking "ripe" after seeing her the morning after their arrival. Had she, who gave birth to three children herself, known? Did Malakay know that she was to give birth and soon? Raal and Malakay were fine in-law's for her; very caring, polite, understanding... So unlike her parents, who took one look at her fiancé then marked him. They didn't like, or see the good in him; they just looked at him with hate and disgust, which was so unfair. Just because the man was older than her, and was a conqueror, didn't mean that they should be so mean, cruel, or heartless towards him. Her beloved was as gentle as could be; while he had a temper, and used it when the time was right for it to be used, he was quite sweet and gentle. A classic example of a proper gentleman. Tell that to her folks and they'd sniff then say otherwise.

"See all the good in that man you want, I'll never see it. He's nothing more than a cradle-robber to me. Takes my daughter when she's not even out of her teenage years, gets her pregnant not soon after then starts her down this path of hurt." her father said sixty years ago.

"He's a good, sweet, gentleman." she insisted.

"You don't know what a "gentleman" is," her father sniffed. "If you knew what one was, you'd of left that fool a long time ago."

"I do too."

"A gent is a man who let's a woman mature—grow up, and experience and enjoy their late-teenage years. A gent isn't so toned in to his sexual desires; he's got a good head on his shoulders, and has good control of himself. A gent is someone like me; that lummox is the opposite of me, Girl."

Her arms rising... ready to strike the man who dared to speak bad of her beloved, were seen. Her father turning, then stepping away from her... The loss of her balance, then trip down the stairs. The look that was on her father's face after she looked at him after finishing her fall... The pain, followed by her scream...

That was a horrible thing to think about! She stopped thinking it immediately. Why was she thinking about the event that cost her the life of her and Shaam's eleventh child anyways? She shouldn't be thinking or recalling bad events; she should be thinking about good things.

Something happened after they arrived to her in-law's place. A feeling had fallen over her. While her beloved retained that sweet side of his, she reacted rather coldly towards him. Instead of speaking to him, or embracing or touching him, she stayed quiet. Or slept. While she was ravenous, she had no ambition to eat—this started soon after waking on the morning following their arrival; why? Did labor start, or did something happen to her baby to make her slide into a depressed state? Waking to find the bed that she and her fiancé were given to sleep in wet and a little bloody had scared her... it scared her fiancé too. Shaam was thrown from the bed thanks to her. Was he okay? She tried to ask him if he was and she was prevented from doing so.

Along with jumping out of his bed, her father-in-law came running to their chamber right after her scream was expelled. Her beloved, dressed in nothing, had taken her from the room then carried her to the chamber that she was in. Malakay had joined her right after she was in it.

Where were her beloved, and father-in-law? Were they pacing the hallway that was outside of the room, or in a different room? Were they talking? Was her father-in-law trying to calm her fiancé, or just dealing with himself? What were the staff, who were awake, and doing things in the house, doing? For all of a week, she had done nothing but clean her beloved's place. Her beloved had insisted on her letting his staff do the cleaning, and she insisted on his leaving her be; why had she done that? She had never done the frantic cleaning thing before. Not once during her other pregnancies had she gone on a cleaning spree.

So many questions bogging her mind, and so many fears and worries tugging and turning her. She continued to pace the room for a few more minutes then, after feeling the sensation of something drop in her stomach, she screamed then collapsed. Malakay, on instinct, ran towards her. She was helped to her feet then assisted to the bed at once; the call for the physician was done a few minutes later.

6:09 a.m.; Office

The call for the physician was done a half hour ago; Malakay's concerned, but is keeping it to herself; and Shaam's about ready to dig a hole in the floor—that was what he was thinking.

The storm was bad... From what he heard, fifty ground-to-sky whirlwinds, over thirty properties damaged or destroyed, ten souls lost, and about five billion in damages occurred because of it. He wouldn't be surprised to find that a lot of women gave birth after it—it was enough to scare the umbilical cords from any well-formed or to-term baby. Finding out about his son's property being near the heart of the damage path was terrible; thoughts of him lying under a bunch of debris, or being horribly, if not fatally, injured, and thoughts of Egla being injured so far into her pregnancy, or losing her unborn child, had run through his head right after he heard the storm report. Luckily, for all of them, none of that happened. His son grabbed, then filled four suitcases before grabbing his family and fleeing.

Ring-ring; who's that at my door at this hour of the night? Why, it's my second oldest son and his woman. The property that they're living in—5,000 square feet; with a stable, large garage that's big enough for fifteen cars, an S-shaped pool, more than enough pasture for the horses, and three gardens—had all but been leveled by one of the whirlwinds. Can we stay with you until the property's either repaired or the other one that I own is prepared for residency? Why, of course! Bring yourself, your bags, and that heavily pregnant woman of yours in. Make yourself at home.

All was well and dandy for a few hours then little notices of his son being a no-show were seen. Where were Shaam and Egla? Were they okay? A quick check had shown that they were; he and Malakay had worried about them, but they gave them their much-needed space. His wife had said something around the area of thinking that Egla was close and, as good as her word was, she was. His daughter-in-law had gone into labor sometime last night; a baby was to be born under his roof soon—would their curse be broken, or would another heartbreak happen?

"They have such terrible luck," RaalVile remembered his wife saying. "Eleven babies. Eleven pregnancies with no children to run their halls."

"They're a strong bunch," he returned. "Egla especially so."

"Hopefully, they'll have it good and easy with this one."

He hoped so. He hurt as much as they did; eleven grandbabies conceived and not a one to dote on or see grow up. He shook his head as he remembered them all.

A miscarriage claimed the first, and then secondth. The third, a boy named BuvotVile Couver Surfeit, was born with the cord wrapped around his neck twice. All efforts by his son's physician to get him to breathe were fruitless. A girl, who was given the name of EszissVile Sholie Surfeit, was born next; right from the start, they knew she wouldn't live long. Some of her internal organs were outside of her body. The next baby, who was given the name of AlaborieVile Beragi Surfeit, was thought of as a boy all throughout the pregnancy. Even though she was born alive, she lived for only twelve hours before passing; her colon wasn't fully formed. The next baby was another girl; she was given the name of UkaeffaVile Fluef Surfeit. Unlike the other babies, she was big. A bit too big, actually—due to her size, she got caught in the birth canal then suffocated. Nothing on his son's physician's part could save her. The next baby born to the pair was given the name of TrawajiVile Egareo Surfeit. Sadly, he hadn't had a chance in hell; the placenta ruptured at thirty-five weeks, and the cord was wrapped around his neck five times. Like with Ukaeffa, nothing on the physician's part could save him. Little ShilaVile Eether Surfeit had entered the Universe without so much as a gasp or peep. IrikirVile Chabor Surfeit, the next baby bore to the pair, was very badly deformed—so much so that a gender could hardly be determined. There was no reason for why little TaelaVile Tarali Surfeit passed away; she was fine up to when Egla's labor pains began. Egla's last pregnancy ended in a miscarriage and now there was this one.

Would this pregnancy end in success, or would another baby be born deceased? Would the baby's organs be fully formed, and be inside of the body instead of out of it? Would a cry be heard, or would there be silence?

His physician was a good man, and just as professionally trained as the rest that he employed. If anything happened, he was sure that he could correct it. Why, the man saved his oldest child by Makalay—Riki was in breach position; the physician righted him before pulling him out. A cry, a gasp from him and his wife, then on to happy parenthood.

"This is number twelve. You know that, right?" he remembered asking his son after hearing that Egla was pregnant again.

"Yes," a nod was given. "We have an agreement with this one: if it's lost, or born deceased, or dies shortly after being born, I get myself snipped."

"Uh, get out of my face!" he grimaced. "Serious now, you don't have to let your sorrow do that. Retain them things, Shaam. Just because you've had it rough doesn't mean you have to go cutting anything that you need."

"I don't _need_ them. I've had two daughters—"

"Must I remind you that—"

"I'm the last able-male to keep the family running. Yes, I know. I still call you on that." his son said. "You're still around, and able; why don't you make some more babies?"

"Because the line needs fresh blood in it." he replied.

He was trying his best to talk his son out of it. While he hated to place the burden of family continuation on Shaam's shoulders, what he said then still went now. While he could continue the line, the line did need fresh blood in it. He couldn't sustain it by himself; he needed help.

His oldest son was out. He was a complete bust in the bed. Completely infertile. Riki was also out. The enemy had really done him good with that damn pike. Olia, Varai, and Vlala were girls. Of the three, two were married; Olia and Varai's names had changed to that of what their spouses had, so they couldn't continue the line. Same went with Vlala, who was currently single but looking for companionship. Shaam was his only able son; the line's continuation was squarely on his shoulders. If them balls went, so did the line.

"Unless that baby's a boy, and survives the birth." RaalVile said. "While one son would help the line, two or three would uphold it for sure. Shaam's nuts would still be needed after this one's birth."

His line was an old one. The oldest known on Gamma Vile, and in the M-51 Galaxy, for that matter. Over a million years old and now, sadly, encountering problems. Too many girls were being born. At one time, the gender ratio was tipped more in favor of sons than daughters; now, it seemed that they favored daughters more than sons. The line must be saved by a male. The Surfeit name had to be passed and kept alive by a male member, not female. He'd do his best in the next few months to years to keep his son from doing that procedure; Shaam was his healthiest and most well-known son... He had to keep going, and reproducing.

He didn't dare think about asking his son to break his engagement to Egla. Shaam adored the girl, and she adored him. To ask them to separate was like asking a safe to be dropped on one or the other's head. While, at first, not favoring the relationship, he had to agree that it was both solid and good. The only thing missing were the kids.

"He's had a lot more success with Egla than with the other women that he's been with." RaalVile thought as he "played" with the room's globe. "Of the seven babies that he and Nicolia had, only one survived to adulthood. The same happened with Bikare, who bore him six children."

What told success in pregnancies was the birth of healthy, living babies. His son didn't have that with any of the women that he was accredited to. The one thing that he had with Egla was how strongly attached they were to one another. His son's first, and only, marriage was nearing its end when Ebaisha was born and the same went with his son's first fiancée. While brought down, and dragged through the tube of depressed hell, his son and Egla's love for one another was still strong. Let them heal after this one's born then try again, he thought. Not wait fifty years like Shaam did to ask Egla for another attempt; wait around a hundred or so then give it another try. Have a doctor or two live in their house, and have them look after Egla from the time the spheres rose to when they set. Have Egla be on bed-rest from the start of her pregnancy to when she was ready to deliver or something.

Zing. Zing.

He grabbed his cellular—a device that, one day, would be invented and then used by the Earthlings, who hadn't even evolved yet—then flipped its bottom down. The white screen showed an envelope, which he pressed. A message showed up afterwards.

"The lightening happened thirty minutes ago. Egla's pushing against Zinjus's order."

6:25 a.m.; Outside of the Birthing Chamber

His father's office was right across from him. He could see the man... he was staring at the door that went to the room that his woman was in, and at him. His pacing had since stopped; Zinjus Aredock, his father's personal physician, had gone into the room a while ago. Screaming, and a lot of it, was heard about fifteen minutes ago. What was going on in there? Was Egla having the baby, or was it born? Was Egla crying and screaming because of another unsuccessful birth, or was there an emergency going on that called for the physician to be brought in? His stepmother wouldn't need the physician's help; not only had she, at one time in the past, been a nurse, but she also gave birth three times.

Should he go in? He had yet to be called and, while he knew it was for the best that the menfolk stay away from the women as they had their young, he couldn't help but want to go in. He was curious. He felt like there was something on his back; the reins were being firmly held, and his muzzle was against his chest. The invisible being that was on his back was holding him back... He also felt a sort of electricity coursing through his body—never in his existence had he felt that, and he was wondering why.

He tried pacing again only to find himself unable to. His body, naked and clothed in nothing more than the robe that his father gave him some hours ago, was tense. The muscle that he harbored was taut. He felt sweat course down the sides of his face, and down his chest; when Egla's scream ricocheted from the room, he started breathing heavily.

"Come on." ShaamVile said. "Come on. Come on. Do something other than scream. Don't cry or scream; call me, please. Have the baby then call for me to come in, MiLass."

He didn't know how long he stood there but, when his paralysis broke, he thought he heard a woman say 'that's it'.

He resumed his pacing after thinking that he heard something. The room that he paced before was quiet. His father came out of his office. He stood before the door; his face was grave, and full of concern. He paced and paced and paced until, finally, the door that he was pacing before was opened. The physician, a Goteian of modest height, who had bleach-white fur and charcoal-gray eyes, walked out. He wiped his hoof-like hands on the towel that he had with him then looked at him.

"All I can do, sir." the man said.

"Well?" ShaamVile said. He took two steps towards the man then stopped. A glance at the room was made, then he looked at his father, then at the physician. "Well? What was it? Is it alive or—"

"Go find out for yourself." Malakay, who was leaving the room, said.

6:35 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

The room's blue-gray carpet came close to tripping him when he went in. Blue walls, with a brown strip in every corner, dominated his line of sight for a micro second before he trained his attention to the bed.

It was occupied, as he knew it would be, but, to him, it looked to have more than one occupant on it. White sheets were pulled up to the waist of his beloved. The pillows were crumpled and unkept; some lay on the floor while others lay here and there at the head of the bed in weird angles. He took half a dozen hurried steps towards the bed before stopping. His beloved, a member of the Synamon species, who had white hair and green eyes, which sported rather exotic, yellow-colored, cat-like pupils in their centers, had something to her breast—both of which were exposed, but only one could be seen, which made him wonder why.

He took a tiny step forward then stopped. His beloved looked tired... if he wasn't seeing things, there was a "stained" area on the bedding. What happened? Had something ruptured? Did the origins of the stain come from the normal birthing process—which was never easy, or clean. He took another step then stopped in his tracks. All feeling left him at once. The Universe stopped revolving. All sound ceased being heard when he saw the arm reach out from the blanket that his woman was holding to her breast; it was the right one, he was sure, and, if he wasn't seeing things, it was black.

"The first thing she did, after Esziss and Alaborie were born, was let them nurse." ShaamVile thought as he lingered near the room's center. "Even though Esziss came out with some of her intestines, bowel, and liver out of her body, she insisted on letting her nurse. Esziss passed while nursing. It was by her milk that we discovered Alaborie's deformity—Alaborie nursed, then wasn't able to pass any fecal matter because of her colon not being fully formed."

"Shaam?" Egla's soothing, sweet voice floated to him. He blinked his eyes, but didn't move from where he was. "Shaamie, come forward. Think someone that we've been wanting to see wants to see you."

The spell was broken, but not by his choice or will. He stepped forward slowly, then with ever increasing speed. When he was at the bed, he sat then leaned over. His woman moved ever so slightly; their favorite position—to snuggle, or rest against one another while having their heads, or faces, close—was achieved a few seconds later. His beloved's head rested on one of his ears. He looked at her then, after producing a nervous little swallow, looked down.

A smile spread across his face after he saw what it was that she was holding. While delicate—fragile, as any newborn babe was—, there was no mistaking the gender of what it was.

"Egla!" he exclaimed in a whisper. Love poured out of him for both her and the newborn that was taking in his first meal. He felt complete; for the moment, he forgot all the hurdles that he and she had faced as a couple.

The baby was small—if he had to make any guesses, he was between seventeen and nineteen inches long—and he resembled him a little. Them little ears of his looked fragile and delicate now but, in time, they'd fill out and become quite sturdy. They were a dull silver color; the Tiger-like stripes, that were on them, were a dull black color. He was sure that, in time, the baby's colors would darken—they almost always did; babies were typically born a lighter version of what they'd be in the months to years to come. The left side of his head and, he presumed, body was a dark silver color while the other side was that dull black color. The nails, that were on the ends of the perfectly formed fingers, were black. The baby's eyes were currently closed; while retaining the urge to ask about them, he found himself as wondering what color they were. In time, he told himself, he'd find out.

"Egla..." ShaamVile turned then kissed her. She kissed him back, then fell back against his ear.

"Zinjus had to cut me for him to pass." Egla said. With his ever-increasing awe and excitement, he missed the tired sound that was creeping into her voice. "His ears were causing him to be stuck."

"Boy, right?" he asked.

"Mhmmm."

"Sitting here, wondering where the rest of him is." ShaamVile said. "Such a little thing... you were pretty round..."

"Big and mighty things come in small packages."

"Looks to have a good palate."

"Came out cry-less," Egla said. "He practically latched on right after being placed on my chest."

He suddenly had a hankering to touch him. A little touch. A finger to the little dark hand, that was being held like a fist. He reached his hand around the bundle that his fiancée was holding then, right when he was about to lay a finger on his new son's fist, it flashed at him. There was movement in the bundle. His son's head moved ever so slightly; milk dribbled down Egla's exposed chest before coming to a stop when it came in contact with the blanket. The same thing happened a few seconds later, when he tried to touch his son's fist again.

"Leave me alone, Daddy. That's what he's saying." Egla said. She was holding in the chuckles.

"Sure is a fussy, spunky little thing." ShaamVile said.

The eyes of the newborn opened—maybe it was his saying that he was fussy or spunky or, maybe, it was his use of a little louder voice that did it. All he knew was that, once them eyes opened, they swept from him then to Egla. Taking them in, he wanted to say, but couldn't. Them newborn eyes were nearly the same shade of bottle green that Egla's were; along with being a little lighter, they glowed rather magnificently. While he didn't have his mother's pupils, they were the same shade of yellow that Egla's were. The shape of them tiny, round, bumblebee-yellow pupils had come from him; there was no doubt on that.

"Welcome to the Universe, Little Duru." Egla said. He had a fight on his hands to not cry.

8:45 p.m.; Dining Room

"Mazel tov!" everyone yelled at once.

Wine glasses, made of the purest form of glass known in the Universe, clicked as the occupants of the room congratulated the one who stood in their center. A tight ring was around the man who, a week and three days ago, became a new father. The word was quickly spread on the birth; the coveted heir to the Surfeit clan was born on the eleventh of December, in the year 3650, at exactly 6:28 a.m., to lucky parents, ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit and Egla Ifica Shaar. Everyone wanted to come over, party, and do the congratulating thing right after the birth but, on polite request of the new father, they retained that desire for all of a week and a half. None of them needed to know the reason for why the postponement was made; everyone knew about ShaamVile's apparent bad luck in the baby-department.

Out of the twenty-five babies that he created with his partners, ShaamVile had just one be born and then stay alive per engagement. One with Nicolia Bloashi, and another with Bikare Globoosie, and now the one that was born to Egla Shaar. ShaamVile's apparent bad luck had run its course, they were thinking and saying. Out of eleven back-to-back unsuccessful pregnancies, he and Egla had finally brought forth a living child.

And a son at that!

"The Gods shine down upon you, Shaam!" TrobrencusVile's hand slapped against ShaamVile's shoulder. ShaamVile smiled, but didn't lose his good mood or humor. "A near-two week old baby, and a boy at that!"

"I knew he'd come through one day. My branch of the Surfeit clan is saved thanks to my boy here." a little bit of the wine that was in ShaamVile's glass spilled after his father clapped him on the shoulder that his older, half-brother slapped. Like with TrobrencusVile, ShaamVile took the clap well. No bad or ill feelings felt.

"And he is a healthy thing." ShaamVile said. "Once that nipple's presented to him, or the bottle's to his lips, he sucks. He's getting stronger by the day... makes me so damn proud!"

"Makes me glad to know that no more assaults on the balls will be spoken of." RaalVile said.

"Hear Ye! Hear Ye!" ShaamVile cheered. "The sacred sacks be-ith saved. My days as a stud aren't as numbered as I thought they were."

"Wouldn't of let you do it anyways, M'boy." RaalVile said.

There were close to thirty people in the room. All gaily dressed for the occasion; some in dresses, and others in very flashy tuxedos. ShaamVile, the proud, new father, was the only one of the men to not be wearing a tuxedo—he, a long time ago, had forged his own tastes in clothing.

His dark green pants went to just his knees. The garter strings, that held their ends to his knees, were the same color. The three buttons, and short zipper, that were on their groin, were of genuine silver; the same went with the buttons that went down their outer legs. A pair of white slacks ran down from the end of the pant legs; they went into a pair of dark gray suede boots, that's top halves were pulled down a little. The crisp, white shirt, that had long sleeves, and a button front, was proudly worn under a bright green vest, that had silver buttons on its front. The jacket, which had silver hems and designs sewn into it, went down to the floor on the left side only; the right stopped at ShaamVile's waist. The silk cravat tie, that had Paisley Floral designs on it, was just as crisp as the rest of his clothing.

Of the men in the room, ShaamVile stood out the most and he damn well knew it. He was dressed very sharply, and looked just as proud as could be.

"Where's the Lil' Guy?" ShaamVile's older brother, ZaalVile Ejaw Surfeit, asked. When ShaamVile made no indication of having heard him, ZaalVile walked forward then placed his hand on his shoulder. "Shaam, my man, where's the Lil' Tyke that's my nephew?"

"Napping," ShaamVile laughed. "That's most of what he does. Eats, craps or pisses, then sleeps."

"No crying involved with this one?" TrobrencusVile, who had two, young daughters of his own, asked.

"That, too." ShaamVile held his glass out; RaalVile automatically filled it. "Duru produces the highest cries that I've ever heard."

"Bet he keeps you and Egla up at nights." TrobrencusVile speculated.

"Mostly Shaam," RaalVile said as he re-filled his brother's glass.

Though happy, and just as joyous as the rest of them, RaalVile harbored a worry that he wasn't able to voice for the last week and three days. It revolved around his son's fiancée; the woman would of been down in the spacious, stone-floored room with everyone if not for looking and being so tired. Zinjus had, indeed, come through in ensuring a safe birth but he did admit to having to do what his prior physician did for Shaam to be born.

Frahfrie Cloridona, his first wife, and the mother of his first three children, was induced and then cut for his secondborn son to be born. Like with Duru, Shaam's ears prevented safe, and clear, passage. Frahfrie was cut, then their son was pulled out; a healthy, fat thing of nearly nine pounds... and a good length of twenty-three inches. Born big and stayeth big; his son had never missed a meal, or time in the gym. His secondborn son was as healthy, and strong, as could be.

Egla, though, was a concern of his. She looked to be running a fever most mornings and nights, and she hardly had enough strength to stand, much less look after her and Shaam's newborn. His son was too absorbed in Duru to show much notice of his fiancée's disturbing symptoms; while meaning to talk to Shaam about Egla, he was either distracted by his own happiness or some task that required his immediate attention. As of that night, he decided to ask for Zinjus to look into Egla. A description of her symptoms was given then he asked for him to look at her; what disturbed him the most was her alarming loss of weight, and sudden refusal to let Duru nurse.

Like his son said, Duru was getting stronger by the day, but, as of the last two days, he had started to be a little low in energy. He was a little more sleepy too. Egla's refusal to let him nurse had started two days ago; while Duru was on a trio-diet, which consisted of bottled formula, newborn baby food, and his mother's natural milk, he did need his mother's milk to stay healthy. If not for kin showing up, he'd of grabbed his son then put him straight on who he should be more absorbed in.

Yes, be happy over the successful birth of a child, but don't let it cloud your good judgement, or allow it to stray you from the ones you love. Women were put under a lot of stress during birth and Elga had experienced more than her fair share of it. He feared more for her than for her infant.

"The doc!" RaalVile's third son, RikiVile Levav Surfeit, yelled in his usual, mechanical way.

"Join in My Man!" ZaalVile said. "We owe you as much respect as we do Egla, Shaam, and Malakay."

"S'cuse me, s'cuse me." Zinjus Aredock said as he wrestled through the crowd. "Mr. Raal! S'cuse me... pardon... yes, very nice to meet you... no, I'm afraid I can't linger and enjoy the festivities... Mr. Raal!"

"Zinjus, what's the reason for your hurried arrival, and lack of breath?" RaalVile asked after his physician reached his area.

"You and Mr. Shaam need to come and fast." Zinjus, who looked very worried in the face, pled.

"Whatever for?" ShaamVile, who suddenly appeared beside his father, asked.

"Miss. E—"

"Mrs., nor Miss." ShaamVile made a face. Never had his beloved been called "Miss." while with him; he had no intentions to let any man call her by it.

"Mrs. Egla is quite ill—I need to speak with both of you on her." the Goteian physician practically yelled.

Everyone around them stopped partying at once. ShaamVile's glass exploded into a million tiny, shiny pieces after its holder ran off towards the stairs; his call of _Eeeeeggglllaaaa_ echoed throughout the residence as he went to them. RaalVile conducted himself a little more appropriately by placing the things in his hands down. He followed his physician afterwards.

10:40 p.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Everyone scoffed at him when word reached them of his unorthodox order to his personal physician, who was just as finely trained as his father's was. Most physicians in his day and age worked without doing the clean-up routine on their hands; with their working in dirty environments, they gained a lot of disease and infection to themselves—not only did he not want to himself to attract the attention of an infection but he didn't want his beloved to get any diseases that were untreatable.

The one infection that was running rampant on his planet of birth was called Puerperal Fever. It was usually caught from a physician, or doctor, not cleaning his, or her, hands prior to going to work; it was also gained from the use of equipment that was filthy. This infection targeted women who gave birth, and it had a near 100% fatality record.

Hearing that his beloved was ill was scary in itself, but hearing that she contracted the horrid infection made his blood slow to a bare trickle. His father's physician had come out wiping his hoof-like hands on a towel; he didn't even give it a thought about asking the man to clean his hands, or use equipment that was clean. His fiancée was diagnosed with Puerperal Fever two hours ago; while all efforts were being exercised to save her life, the prognosis didn't look good.

If not for his father, he would of grabbed and then strangled the man who caused his beloved's illness. His residence, which was so badly damaged nearly two weeks ago, was back in order again. He, Egla, and their newborn could move back in; before the diagnosis was made, he had all intention to take them home after the partying commenced. He couldn't do that now. Not with his beloved being as sick as she was.

"These 'biotics should kick that bug in the bud." his father's physician, who was hooking an intravenous drip to Egla's wrist, said.

"For your sake, I hope you're right!" ShaamVile hissed.

8:09 a.m.; Office

"The fever's growing, she's becoming more frail, and you're doing nothing but saying your apologies?" RaalVile scoffed. His physician did nothing but look at his feet. "Do you know how much that woman means to my son? She just gave birth, Zinjus! A week and four days ago—that infant needs her as much as his father does!"

"I've exhausted all available methods to my disposal, sir." Zinjus replied. "I've even let her bleed out, with hopes that the infection would expel itself. There's nothing else—"

"Bullshit!" RaalVile exclaimed. "There's plenty more to use on her! What of the Protozin that you ordered after discovering her illness? Where is that? Why haven't you used it on her?"

"Protozin is very new on the market, sir. I was only rushed a small vial of it. Mrs. Egla's infection is too far along for the drug to take effect."

"Have you used it? How do you know it'll have no effect on her?"

"I've exhausted all available methods, and medicines, to my disposal on her."

Zinjus Aredock, the physician who endured more than enough over the last ten hours, felt like shaking his head. If more than the tiny vial of Protozin was delivered to him, or the Fever was noticed a week earlier, there'd be no issue or cause for concern.

Right after hearing her symptoms, then looking her over, he placed the order for the medicine. The car rushed over, then a box was delivered. While he was happy to receive the vial, he was disappointed in how much it had in it; the Protozin might of been able to treat one who was less effected by his patient's ailment, but it wouldn't be able to treat one who was so badly infected by it. Even though he was heavily minded over the dosage that he gave to his patient, he added some water to it then more than two other forms of medicine as a "strengthener". No change in the woman was noted. Her health, which was already at a fragile state, was slipping by the hour. The woman's fiancé was constantly at her side, and his ear.

While the worry of his patient weighed him down, the threats against his life, and his worry over being fired, made for his conscience to not be the same. He didn't have much faith on the woman's survival, but he didn't dare speak that. Not near his employer, or his son.

The situation was dire and he, sadly, couldn't do a thing to change its course. While medicine was constantly being invented and tested, no cure was available for what Mrs. Egla had.

"Order more Protozin, Zinjus! Get in there then start busting your balls to make my daughter-in-law get to feeling better!" RaalVile snapped.

12:09 p.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Whatever the physician was doing wasn't enough, ShaamVile thought and knew. With his fear being as grand as it was, he placed a call to his own physician, who came right away then set to work. With two physicians working, and applying all available care and methods to his fiancée's care, he was hoping for a miracle. A drug called Protozin, along with two others—Ampicil was one, while the other was a test-drug that hadn't yet been put to market—were administered soon after his physician's arrival. Whenever Zinjus Aredock came near him, he snarled then started his threats.

His Egla wouldn't be sick if not for him! His beloved, who, if he recalled correctly, gave birth to another stillborn son, was sick and it was all Zinjus's fault! He refused to leave her side. Whether to use the bathroom, or eat or drink, he refused to leave her. His head was bowed; continuous prayer was coming from him.

His beloved was sleeping now. He hoped that, when she woke up, she'd be stronger and healthier. He didn't dare think of what he'd do without her in his life. Nearly twelve thousand years, and twelve children together... All the hurdles that they faced together... He didn't think he could live without her.

9:50 p.m.; Office

She woke only once in the nine hours that followed his son's physician's arrival and hasty work. He only needed to take one look at her to know that the effort made by the physicians was in vain. Egla's face was growing pale, and her strength was just so low... All efforts on his part to prepare his son for what was to happen had fallen on deaf ears; Shaam was clinging to the hope that a miracle would happen.

What worried him the most was his son's mental and emotional self. His son was now talking about how Egla had slipped a stillborn; he was also talking of past events as if they just happened. The newborn, who was now nearly two weeks of age, was moved to the chamber that his parents were in—even that didn't stop the talks, or mental slip. When Duru started crying at just past eight o'clock, his father didn't react like a typical father would. He just asked for one of the physicians to close the door. When the crying continued, his son instructed his physician to find the parents and then have them silence their child. Shaam's physician took Duru from the chamber. The baby was in the next room; he was still crying. Did he know of the dark hour that was coming? Did his infant grandson know that his mother was close to death's door?

"Merciful Gods, I beseech you to help her get better, or pass at a quicker pace." RaalVile said as tears welled in his eyes.

7:05 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Her eyes, glassy, hot, and full of sickness, opened just twice. She took in her beloved, who looked so grave and concerned for her, but she couldn't touch him. All strength was zapped from her. She could hardly move her head, she was that weak. The physicians, one employed by her fiancé, and the other by her father-in-law, had worked feverishly on her; she knew that they were trying, and that their work was in vain. The illness, she believed, had entered her body after the scalpel's use. For Duru to be born, she needed to be cut. Zinjus had used a rather smudgy scalpel to make the cut. The illness was claiming her and she knew it.

"Shaam," Egla wished she could say... but couldn't, thanks to her illness. "I love you so much. One day, my love, we shall meet again. Take care of our little one. Be a good daddy to him."

7:35 a.m.; In the Birthing Chamber

Her last breath came right when he sat up. He was about to nod off; a lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and he was having a time in staying awake. His beloved, who looked so ill, moved her hands ever so slightly. He took one then pulled it to his lips. He kissed it right when something happened that made his body convulse.

A gasp came from her. A jerk of the hand that he was holding happened, then she went still. Mentally, he saw her spiritual essence going to the place where all good, deceased folk went. His strength left him; her hand, so fine and smooth, slipped from his then fell to the bed. When that happened, he shot up from where he was then collapsed over her.

"Noooooooo...!" ShaamVile wailed. "No, Egla... come back! Merciful Gods, please right the wrong! Return her to the world of the living! Return her to good health, and to me! My Egla! My Egla! My Eeeeegggggllllaaa!"

5:35 p.m.; The Cemetery

"Blessed be, let her sleep and in peace." TrobrencusVile preached as he led the procession of people to the cemetery.

For TrobrencusVile, the worse thing in the Universe had happened. Despite all the efforts put in to save her, his nephew's fiancée perished three days ago. A few hours following her untimely demise, the hole was dug; all preparatory work was done to ensure that her passing to the next world was a good one.

She was dressed in green, which was her favorite color, and she wore the ring that she was given by his nephew eleven thousand, eight hundred, and ninety-eight years ago. Her hair was washed, and then permed. Her face was cleaned; Egla had never been one to wear makeup, so none was put on her. A pair of green heels were put on her feet, then some jewelry was put on her—Shaam was the one to put the two-strand, pink diamond necklace on her, while Malakay put the matching bracelets on her. While Shaam did some of the preparations on her, Raal did the rest; before the casket was closed, a shower of pink and red rose petals were sprinkled over the body that was in it—Shaam did that before collapsing then succumbing to his hysteria. With the way the man was acting, he was praying for his mental, emotional, and physical health.

The pallbearer's were as followed: Raal and Zaal at the start with Rosol, Olai, and Varai's husbands behind them. Shaam was behind the casket with Malakay. Though dressed appropriately for the affair, he needed to be prompted to do so. Malakay's hand was neatly nestled in his. Baby Duru was behind them; his nephew had forgotten about him. Before the funeral started, he asked that Egla be buried near the grave of their lastborn.

The happy occasion had turned into a dark one. Duru's birth, though a blessing, had come with a price. A baby born alive only for the mother to succumb to an illness that, two weeks later, would claim her life. His nephew was a widower now, and Duru, at just two weeks and three days of age, was a maternal orphan.

"At the start of existence, Man was created by dirt, and Woman by tear of Man. Let thy dirt claim the body that dwelleth in this hole. Let no predator come to these grounds to disturb the sleep of the one placed in this hole, or any of the others who sleep around her. Let the ones already left embrace the new one in their entourage." TrobrencusVile said as the pallbearer's placed the casket in the hole. "Sleep and be at peace, Egla Ifica Shaar."

6:00 p.m.; The Cemetery

They left, leaving him to have his last parting words with his woman. He didn't know what to say. He was numb. He felt empty; his beloved was gone, and so was a good chunk of him. He had nothing else to live for. First, the birth of a stillborn son, then the death of Egla. He should of never talked her into having another child. He should of cut them after the last one was lost. If he did that, none of this would of happened. He'd still have his beloved. He'd be going home with her. Their lives would go on. Everything would be as it should.

Now, everything was changed.

"You... have a lot of babies up there, Elga." ShaamVile said as the tears rained down his cheeks. "Bet a lot of hugging is going on where you're at. Twelve babies to hold and meet. I envy you, My Love. I really do."

She was surrounded by their young. Twelve in all; graves for the miscarried babies were also made. The plot that was beside her was empty, as it should be, but, in time, it'd have an occupant. He had all intention of being buried beside her.

The light from the moons was raining down on him. It lit the grave that was just filled. He felt a sense fall over him. It was like that light was her... a hug from the spiritual side was given to him, he thought. When the wind blew, he imagined it carrying a kiss with it. Why had this happened? Why hadn't that damn physician cleaned his hands, and the tools that he used? He was now looking at having to go home without his woman. A call to his fiancée's parents would have to be made. The Shaar's would be at his throat in no time.

"I knew this would happen! The day you came along, I knew you'd take her from us!" Amjufaria would say.

"I hope you burn in hell you cowardly dog!" Lorboriann would say.

"MiEgla, if I could take back anything, it'd be our last pregnancy." ShaamVile wailed.

He cried while hovered over her grave then, after a few minutes passed, he allowed himself to lie on it. While he didn't know what time it was when he left the cemetery, he did know it was well past dark. It was also cold. Even though he was cold, he didn't care—his heart was ripped from his chest when she died; he didn't feel like a man anymore. When he turned to look at the cemetery, he saw that it was bathed in the moons' light. He waved at the cemetery, told her that he'd see her again, then turned to go to the house.

12:00 p.m.; The Foyer

"It's only been three days, Shaam. Why not stay, and have your family be with you?" Malakay said after he started down the stairs.

"Can't," ShaamVile replied. "Too much pain, and sorrow, is here."

"Shaam!"

"I can't stay here, mammaw." ShaamVile said. He hoisted his bags up as he finished his descent, then came close to tripping.

While Elga's passing effected all of them, her stepson was especially hit by it. Her stepson, who she loved so much, was having a time with coping with what happened. The sudden decision to leave the house, then go to the smaller of his residences—3000 square feet; with six-car garage, stable and barn, an egg-shaped pool, two gardens, three ponds, and a tennis court—was made last night. Her son was leaving her and her husband's abode for one of his own and, most shockingly, he was leaving Duru behind.

She knew why he wasn't going back to his former residence—Egla was there. Her presence, her smell... everything about her was there. Egla had a thing for keys, and for hiding them all over the place, and that residence was just teaming with them. She also had a thing for dancing, Yoga and Pilates, water activities, and music; while Shaam was smart in not returning to his former residence, he wasn't being smart in leaving with the child that his fiancée birthed.

Raal kept it in long enough. Her husband was too overcome with grief to prevent his son's speedy exit while she, who had once given birth to a stillborn, then had two miscarriages before meeting him, was holding herself more together. She grabbed her stepson's arm right when he was reaching for the doorknob then, using all the strength that she had in her, heaved him back. The four suitcases were instantly dropped.

"You're not leaving!" Malakay shrieked.

"I have to! I can't stay here anymore! There's nothing for me here, and there's no reason for me to stay." ShaamVile replied.

"You're not leaving him behind!"

"He's with his mother in Paradise," ShaamVile said as he collected his suitcases.

"You fool!" Malakay, though tender and understanding, swung her hand at the man who was grabbing the cases from the floor. ShaamVile reeled at once, then looked at her in shock.

"Mammaw? How could you? You've never struck me before..."

"Get that handicap from your mind and body now!" Malakay fought the urge to slap him again. "Go upstairs! Claim what you've left!"

"There's nothing for me to claim here!" ShaamVile bellowed.

"You've become clouded by your grief! You've let it push the baby that's upstairs from your mind."

"What baby?" ShaamVile asked a few minutes later.

"Duru, you oaf!"

"He was stillborn. He's buried—"

"No such truth in your words! Nothing of the sort happened—Little Duru was born alive, and is still alive. I, your stepmother, have been tending him since Egla's noted illness."

"Wh—"

"Go! Go upstairs! The baby chamber is where you're needed! He's in there! Go, go look for yourself!" Malakay screamed.

12:08 p.m.; The Second Floor

With nothing else keeping him here, or reason to stay, he packed his things then left without saying so first. His stepmother had seen him leave the room that he and his precious and now forever gone Elga had roomed in; she had followed his heels all while he went to the foyer, then did something that she had never done before.

Ka-Pow! His right cheek stung, and felt warm, but, at the moment, he was oblivious to them things. After hearing what she said, he looked at her for only a second then shot up the stairs. Was what she said true? Did Egla come through in delivering a healthy baby?

Egla's contraction of the dreaded Puerperal Fever had come from his father's physician, who, a few day's ago, parted ways with his employer. Something about a cut needing to be done. His beloved needed to be cut for the baby to be born. A dirty scalpel was used; that was how her illness was gained. The scalpel, and the physician's dirty, hoof-like hands, had caused the Fever to enter her body. His personal physician would of never used anything dirty on Egla. His physician would of cleaned his hands, and instruments, before being allowed anywhere near her. Why hadn't he been in the room with her? He could of prevented the transference of the infection if he was with her!

He went up the grand, and once-spiraling, staircase then tore down the hall towards the room that his stepmother spoke of. As he went along, he thought of all the keys and other treasures that his beloved had around their old residence. He had plans to never go back; his heart hurt too much, and being in that house, with all them items being in it, would cause it to hurt even more. He was going to order all the staff from the house; it was to be locked up tight, but not sold. He'd never sell that property. It held too many memories... both good and bad. He couldn't part with it. The residence, which would still be in his possession some two hundred thousand years later, after he was returned from Limbo by his great-great granddaughter, would forever be his.

The door to the chamber that he was headed towards was blue. He stopped before it, swallowed a few times, then started the process of shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before reaching for the tiny, gold knob. One twist, then a gentle push, made the door swing in; he went in slowly, then glanced around.

"The chamber that any and all newborn babes in the house are housed in," ShaamVile thought as he looked at the room. "I and my siblings were born in a different residence; only five babies were born here... the last one that I and Egla had was born here, while the rest were born at our old residence."

Blue walls, that had purple and blue cloud drawings on them, were seen. Walnut wood trim decorated each of the corners. A walnut dresser, with matching changing table, stood across from the crib, which was also made of walnut. A wicker basket, that looked to house some paper in it, stood near the changing area. A wooden rocking chair, complete with blue cushion, was to the right of the crib. One of the room's windows was open; early afternoon light was washing in. Shelves full of stuffed animals, and other baby items, hung here and there on the walls; a single, silver fridge was standing in the upper right corner.

He went towards the crib, which had a new mattress, and looked to have blue and white baby blankets in it, slowly. It was all too easy to picture the last baby born to him and Egla in it. Baby Duru, swaddled in a blue baby blanket, or wearing a pair of blue PJ's, or a plain diaper, taking in the world around him through them walnut wood bars. Baby Duru's eyes, wide open, trying to take everything in at once, scoping the room out. Baby Duru waiting for his next meal, or his diaper to be changed, or some attention. All too easy to picture... he came close to turning and then fleeing the room. At the very last second, he mustered the strength to look in the crib.

A smile lit his face instantly, then little lights sparkled in his eyes as fresh tears fought to the surface.

"The only piece I have left of MiEgla and yet, here I was to leave you behind." ShaamVile said as he lifted the baby, who seemed to be heavier than he remembered him being, from the crib. "My son and last remaining piece of Egla, let's go home."


	2. Part 1: Shlock's Plague

_When you're as old as me, you have a lot of tales to tell. You also have a problem—the task of who to tell them to, and which to speak of. While some decide to tell their tales far and wide, regardless of who the audience is, there are others who prefer to keep some of them to themselves and choose wisely who's to hear them. I see myself as being among the latter, and I prefer to speak of the tales that are interesting, or of value, over just saying something that may or may not be taken in. It's true that one of my age can write a full-length novel of their life thanks to what they've gone through... if they choose to, that is. While I've told many of my life's events to my children, there's a lot left untold—either they're heart-wrenching, even by my standards, or I wish to retain them. As of the last month, I've wondered if I shouldn't sit then write some of the key-events that have happened in my near 220,000 year existence._

 _The care provided to my family, the tending of my galaxies, and the general worry or two that was recently placed on my lap have kept me from sitting in my office to write out some of my life. Since my family are asleep, and it's still early evening, I've made the decision to break ground on what will probably just be written then placed in a safe somewhere. The stack of paper, that lies before me, is quite large for what I have in mind to do for the next few nights. The pen that rests in my hand has fresh ink in it, and the house is quiet, so this should be a relatively easy thing to do._

 _What to write first is the first thing that comes to my mind. There's many things that I can start this heap of a story on. Should I start writing about my teenage years, then add in small snippets of information about my childhood, or just start from my childhood then work myself up to where I am now? I guess the first thing I should do is date this piece of paper:_

 _May 23, 4101_

 _Should I add in the actual year, or keep it as the simple format that's been used for over a million years? Technically, it's 4,101,093,407—since the actual date of the Universe isn't known, everyone goes by the year of the oldest known planet's birth, which happened over four billion years ago. Since that's such a long number to write, it was mutually decided that only the first four numbers would be used in the dating system. Official, important papers, and the actual birth and death-dates of a being, are recorded; everything else is dated by the first four numbers of the technical year. The last three numbers of the technical-date count back. Always have and always will—no one knows the purpose behind it; even the scholars and so-called geniuses don't know why they do that. My young, like the others that are in my family, were taught this at an early age; there are a few peasant folk who don't know or care to know this._

 _It's been a little over a month since I and mine returned home. I haven't had a chance to sit down for, as I wrote above, many reasons—which, if I decide to follow through and complete this thing, I'll add near the end._

 _My first memory! I guess that'll be the thing that I'll start this thing with. For most folk, their first memories happened in their mid-kid years. While I harbor a memory that I feel happened before the one that I'm about to start this thing with, I don't know where to place it. I can't remember when it happened, or caused it to happen. This memory... a squeezing sensation... darkness, and the desire to be out from where I was, and the squeezing sensation, is an odd one. I'll just mention it once then go on with the actual process of writing the actual tidbits of my life—as I wish for them to be written, and in the order from which they happened._

 _This one memory I hold dear to my heart. Other than the general photograph, I've never seen my mother. She passed away sometime after my birth—the first edition of my family's Chronicle books, which were really hash-up jobs, but did have some decent work put into certain chapters, claimed that she passed away right after my birth. I was told that she died two weeks after my birth—after contracting an infection that, back in the day, had a near-fatal record. Instead of being raised by both of my parents, I was raised by one. My father, a great man, who's just as well-known as me, did all the raising. It's only appropriate that my first memory revolves around him. I was just two hundred and five years old when this memory occurred—a young toddler, who cared for nothing more than his toys, getting a bite to eat, playing, and having his one and only parent close by._

 _I remember it like yesterday. I was seated in my high chair—which had one of those round, swing-out tops, and a soft cushion seat and back. Breakfast was being made. I was in my chair, wearing nothing more than a diaper, and a pair of blue pants. My father was at the stove, making us our usual, when I leaned forward and said—_

"Pubba!"

He pulled forward. The high squeal, followed by the tinge of laughter, could of come from no other child but his. The spatula that he had in his hand came close to being dropped; he placed it on the counter, beside the stove, then turned around. The only child that resided in his home sat just ten feet from him. He was leaning forward in the chair that he only just put him in. He and Duru had overslept that morning; with having to deal with the constant phone-tags by the people who were suppose to be acting as the subordinates of his conquered realms' governments, a fussy toddler, who refused to go to sleep in his own bed, and the worry of whether he should allow his child's maternal grandparents to see him, he didn't get much sleep last night.

Duru, though a blessing, was a handful. In comparison, things were easy with Ebaisha and Eblouissie when they were this age. He had some help with the raising of Ebaisha while, with Eblouissie, he did all the work. From his second daughter's birth to now, he was the only one to care and look after her. Taking care of his only son shouldn't be that hard—he remembered thinking and believing this and, so far, Duru was proving it wrong. Duru was a handful and, if he heard correctly, he just said his first word—or, at least something that sounded like one.

"What?" ShaamVile's strong, loud, and deeply husky voice came out soft, but quite excited.

Despite all of what his personal physician said, he still worried about his son. Duru was such a little thing as a baby; just barely seven pounds, and nearly seventeen inches long. As a two hundred and five year old, he should weigh around twenty-six pounds. While he was on schedule for his height, he wasn't with his weight. Duru weighed just twenty-one pounds. He knew that it wasn't his eating habits; Duru was eating as well as any other youngster his age. Duru was also a right active thing. Once he was up, it was all play and run with little rest in between. While Ebaisha and Eblouissie were active at his son's age they were also chunk-a-muffies—no worries expressed on whether they were eating enough, or what was going on inside for them to not gain weight. Maybe it was his son's very active schedule that was causing him to be underweight, or maybe he was in that stage where he was teething.

Duru had changed relatively little since being born. The left side of his head and body was that same dark silver color, while his right side had darkened considerably. His son's right side was just as black as the night sky; so, too, were them Tiger-like stripes that were on his ears, which were now a bright silver color. Duru's ears were still delicate and fragile; it would be a while yet before they filled out, and became as sturdy as his. The nails, that his son sported on the ends of his fingers and toes, were still black.

He really shouldn't be all that surprised over his son speaking. Duru was trying to make words for the last thirty years; as of the last ten years, they were increasing. Sometimes, most of the words that he tried to say started with a P, while others seemed to start with a B or G. He stood with his back to the stove, waiting to hear, or see, his son speak, for another two minutes before turning around. Maybe he heard things. He was sleepy, after all. Maybe his ears were—

"Pubba! Pubba!"

The spatula was dropped to the floor on that one. He turned around quickly then went to his son, who looked at him through wide, and glowing, chartreuse-green eyes. He leaned down then, as if on cue, his son grabbed his wooden spoon—which had a good many "dents" on it; Duru was using it to "voice" his teething frustrations on—then flashed it at him. If not for his quick reflex of pulling back, it'd of struck him across the mouth. Duru was exhibiting yet another thing that his older, half-sisters didn't do when they were his age. Ebaisha and Eblouissie were sweet little dears who'd never throw anything, or try to "strike" at their father; Duru took advantage of any opportunity that he was given to strike out at him.

Mean lil' fart, that was what he was. His young son was a spunky, fussy, mean thing and he, honestly, wouldn't want him any other way. Boys were, after all, different than girls. No child was suppose to act in the same way so why was he, on this early morning, comparing his son to his two, adult daughters?

"No. No." ShaamVile said. He took the spoon from his son then placed it on the high chair's surface. He then pointed at it. "Bad, Duru. Bad manners, you don't do that.

"Yuhuh!" DuruVile shook his head. "Iguh... I guh, wuhwa!"

"Someone please invent a book that gives descriptions of every word a toddler says." ShaamVile thought. "You don't swing spoon at P—"

"Pubba!"

Now the shit hit the fan. He had heard that word four times in the last few minutes, and he dismissed it. Had marked it as his ears playing tricks on him. Now that he heard it being said while he was facing the one who said it, he knew that his ears weren't playing tricks on him. His son had said a word—or something akin to one—right in front of him.

"Papa," ShaamVile said. Maybe his son was trying to say that. 'Papa' was a word that he said a lot near him, after all.

"Pubba!" DuruVile sang.

"Papa,"

"Pubba! Pubba! Pubba!" his son threw his arms at the ceiling which each saying of that word; he couldn't help but beam in pride, and smile at him.

"What's 'Pubba', son?" he asked. Duru responded by jabbing a finger at him. "Me? I'm "Pubba"?"

"Pubba! Uhhuuuuu, uhhuuuuu!" his son nodded his head, then grabbed the spoon from the swing-out table's surface. Unlike the first time, where he was fast to avoid being hit, he was struck this time.

"Ow!" for such a little thing, Duru had a good swing to him. The wooden spoon struck him across the forehead; he took it from his son then returned it the table's surface. He then pointed at it. "No, Duru! Bad boy, don't swing spoon."

The audience of four laughed lightly, and to themselves. They should all be working, and making sure that the house was in tip-top order for their employer, who had his hands full with his son. Instead of working, they were watching the spectacle of what was going on in front of them. It was the cutest thing that they had ever seen—none of them were past their early-adult years, and none of them had any children of their own; seeing young Duru acting the way he was, and seeing his father react, and be "bullied" by his son, was just too good of a thing to miss.

The silent laughs stopped almost as soon as they began when the toddler picked the spoon, that his sire just returned to his chair's surface, up. The four women watched as the boy chewed on it, then swung it up; in an instant, they gasped. The boy threw the spoon at the backside of his father, who had since gone back to the stove. The spoon struck their employer's left shoulder then bounced into the air. It landed in the pan of eggs that the man suddenly stopped tending. Their employer grabbed the spoon from the pan then turned around. Father at one instant, then stern disciplinarian-slash-warrior the next; they watched in horror as he brandished the spoon that was just thrown at him.

"I said no, Duru!" the spoon was slapped to the surface of the nearby counter; the toddler automatically started to sniffle at the loss of his "toy". "You do not throw things at Papa! Bad boy!"

"He's just a baby," Shilila Shadeed, a Goteian of impressive beauty, who had black fur and short, but well-ringed, horns on her finely detailed head, whispered.

"Uhbie, ooon." Young Duru started to cry.

"No, son! You blew that one. No spoon until—"

"Oooon! Oooon! _Oooooooon!_ " Duru was now getting hysterical.

"Cry all you want, Young Man." ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit turned back to the stove. "Your spoon will be returned to you in a few minutes."

 _"Ooooooooooooon! Pubba, oooooon! Unt! Unt! Uuuuuunnntt!"_

Kerala Erge, the younger of the four women, watched the act that followed through near-moist eyes. While true, she had no children of her own, she was raised around a lot of them. She had six younger siblings, all of whom were born some two thousand years after her. She knew the rights and wrongs of parenting and, to her, what was going on was the wrong way of disciplining a toddler. One didn't brandish anything, or slap something down while being in front of a toddler. Toddlers were so impressionable, and easily spooked; while her employer had good intentions of disciplining his son, he didn't do it right. The spoon was brandished, and then slapped to a surface; a very angry voice, that was sure to scare any toddler, was used; and now he was ignoring the boy.

Dehere Lianga, a white-furred Goteian, who had green eyes and short, stubby horns, and Arajaha Aspidistra, a brown-furred Goteian, who had blue eyes and a "beard" stubble under her chin, were doing nothing but watching what was happening. Shilila looked upset, didn't look to have an interest in doing anything to end the madness that was happening in the the kitchen. The three women that were with her had been hired sometime before her; they were just as young as her, yet here they were, letting their employer ignore his son. Kerala brushed her hands down her gray dress, which had a white apron on its front, then started forward. Dehere grabbed her arm instantly.

"Don't you dare!" Dehere said.

"Let me go." Kerala insisted.

"You go in there, interrupt our employer's dis—"

"That is not discipline." Kerala hissed.

"You're only three months in on working here." Arajaha, who looked quite perturbed, said. "Don't stain your record, or—"

"Let her go." Shilila said. "She's new and, like Baby Duru, needs to learn the rights and wrongs of the house."

Kerala went into the kitchen after being released. She strode right up to Duru, then started undoing the bands that bound him to the chair; she was just getting the final two unsnapped when her employer turned. Despite her silent entrance, ShaamVile had sensed her coming into the room. After the bands were removed from the child, she went to undo the latch that was under the table's surface. She was just touching the latch when she felt a presence looming over her. Young Duru had since stopped crying; he looked from her to the impossibly huge man, who was half the reason of his existence. Kerala Erge stood just five foot, five inches—the man who loomed over her made her look downright puny.

"And will you please tell me what the hell you think you're doing?" even though her employer was angry a few seconds ago, he didn't sound it now. Despite this, there was no mistaking that all-too-protective note that he had in his voice.

"Uh—" Kerala looked at the kitchen's entrance; either her co-workers had fled, leaving her to her sure demise, or they were there, but staying as far back as they could while also being quiet. After taking the possible absence of her co-workers in, she returned her gaze to her employer. "T-taking your son from his chair."

"That's what I thought you was doing." that all-too-protective note that he had in his voice stopped being detected vocally. It was now being expressed physically; he grabbed her by the tie of her apron then threw her from his son's area. She bounced from the edge of the table, then fell to the floor after being thrown.

"Stop!" Kerala said sternly. Her mother had always told her that a woman had a right of voicing her defense, and that was what she was planning to do. "You have no right to touch me!"

"Has the print on your contract changed? _I_ am _your_ employer, Wench! I make the decision on whether I put my hand on you." ShaamVile snapped. He stepped towards her then crouched down. She pulled back instantly. "Or do I need to make example of that with you?"

"N-no s-sir." Kerala stammered.

"Get out of here." her employer barked. "Before I decide to make Greased Lamb out of you—get!"

"I'd hate to know the nightmares that your son will have come nap-time." Kerala said as she stood up. Her employer had since gone to replace the straps that she undid on his son's chair; his back stiffened at her words at once. "Kids his age are right impressionable, and easily spooked; I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he refused to eat breakfast because of y—"

Before being allowed to work for him, all of the men and women that sent in their credentials had to agree to be submissive to him. They also had to accept any form of punishment that he gave, and that he needed no help in the rearing of his young. While Duru was a handful, he required no help from no one in regards to his care; the same went on his needing any back-talk on how he was looking after him. If Egla was here, he'd of listened to her and not been physical—never had he lain wrong hand on her; his beloved had, and still did, meant the world to him. No hand of his had ever struck or hurt her during their long time as a couple.

The broad who he just caught trying to toddler-snatch his son was standing on very thin ice before; she just now fell through. He only meant to strap his son to his chair again but, now that the wench back-talked him, he forgot about doing that. School was in session for the maid who stood before him and by golly gosh was she ever going to learn to both respect and go by his instruction. He wheeled around then back-slapped her; she screamed, then fell back at once. One slap was enough, he thought. He grabbed her from the floor after disciplining her then threw her towards the room's entrance; his son took this in through wide, inquisitive eyes. He kept his actions far from Duru—the last he wanted was for him to be hurt.

"If you want more, you stay. If you don't want more, you get." ShaamVile snarled at the one who had the nerve to back-talk him.

"You're a mad man!" the maid exclaimed. She fled the room after he lunged at her.

"Uh guh bee-bee." DuruVile said.

"Sure did, son."

With order restored to the room, he calmed down then went back to the stove. Duru, as of the last fifty years, had gained an interest in eggs; whether of the scrambled, fried, or boiled variety, he just had a good appetite for eggs, and that was what he was making for him that morning. A good dollop of scrambled eggs, with enough cheese added in for flavor. Since he had a hankering for ham and an omelet that morning, that was what he was making for himself. Along with a cup of Joe, of course. While his son didn't have an interest in omelet's yet, he was sure that, one day, he would. His warrior was eating good protein; it was time for the one who made his creation possible to provide it. He was in the process of sliding the pan's serving of scrambled eggs into the blue bowl that his son ate his breakfast from when a set of arms wrapped around his leg. He flinched, then looked down.

Stupid broad had gotten him so fired up that he forgot about strapping his son to his chair! Duru, who wasn't only teething but going through a rather insane escape-artist routine, had gotten out of his chair. His young son's arms, and legs, were wrapped around his right leg. The routine that he always did after his son escaped from his confinement areas started at once; he finished making Duru his breakfast, then "hobbled" to the table with the bowl. The bowl was placed on the high chair first, then he went to retrieve his son. His son, as he usually did when this was done, refused to relinquish the hold that he had on him.

"Duru, come on. Let go of papa's leg." he said. His son merely giggled at him.

Toddlers, despite their small size, were a strong bunch. He was always finding himself surprised at how strong his son's grip was. Even as a baby, he had a good grip on him. The family heirloom—the ear-piece that was usually passed down from father to firstborn son, which was currently not in his ear—had nearly been ripped from his ear a few times when his son was in his early baby years. Duru had just reached up, grabbed, and then yanked it down. If his ear wasn't as sturdy, or wide, as it was, he'd be walking around with a little chunk of it missing. He managed to get one of his son's arms from around his leg but he wasn't able to free himself; after nearly five minutes of fighting his son, he went back to the stove. He was careful to not step on his son, or drop anything that was hot on him, as he made his breakfast; after it was ready to be taken to the table, he "hobbled" on over to where he needed to go. Duru relinquished his hold on him after he sat down; he grabbed him quickly, before he could run off or hurt himself—kitchen's weren't a place for toddlers to be playing or running around in. Duru was strapped to his chair, then given his spoon and eggs; he ate his breakfast while his son toyed with his. The local newspaper, that was thrown at his driveway each morning, was rolled up before him; he grabbed, then unrolled it, after he finished his slab of ham.

Slap!

Never a dull moment in his house. Peace, nowadays, was hard to come by. With his having a spoon-throwing, escape-artist, fussy/spunky/mean toddler around, he hardly had time to indulge in some Me-Time. If his beloved didn't contract that Puerperal Fever, he'd be a lot better rested, a lot more calmer, and a little less confrontational. With there being no woman around to take some of the pressure from his shoulders, he was stuck with the whole burden.

Duru, his handful of a toddler, who wasn't only a blessing but also the only thing he had left of his Egla, had done his usual. Half of his eggs were eaten, while the rest was being flung around the room. He dropped the paper then went to stop him from doing this. He unstrapped him from the chair, then took him to the room that he personally saw to baby-and-toddler proofing; his son was put in it, then the gate was put up. He went back to the kitchen after this was done. He finished his breakfast, and read the paper, then set himself to cleaning the mess that his son made.

"Don't you think it's a bit much for a Starter Home, son?"

"Still debating on scrapping the tennis court, gardens, and ponds—no, not really."

"A "Starter Home" is usually under three thousand square feet, Shaam. Even after my first conquest, I resided in a two-room apartment. Stayed there for a few hundred years before getting a modest Starter—under a thousand square feet; no garage or anything included. It helped me get some experience under the belt before moving to the bigger, more elegant housings."

"Think I can handle it."

"Most kids your age still reside at home with their folks. Not sure if this is a rebellious phase, or if something's crawled under your skin, but I do wish that you'd drop these plans, and the "ambition" that you have to move out. You're just fifty years out of The Dark School of Evil; you're big, but nowhere near ready to leave the nest."

His father wasn't a happy man when he found the plans that he and a contractor made for the residence that he and his son were living in. He took one look at the sprawling, 3000-square foot plans, that had a six-car garage, stable and barn, an egg-shaped pool, two gardens, three ponds, and a tennis court on it, then started looking for him. He did about all he could think of to talk him out of the property that he and the contractor drew up. Along with the home that's plans were drawn up, he wasn't very happy about the location either.

The residence that he and his son were living in was on a fifty-acre lot that, at one time, was half-desert and forest. While the 'dozers did their job in taking the trees and other foliage down, the team of professionals, who knew how to turn dry, arid terrain into soft, green pastures, were hard at work on the lot's desert part. His parents had hit the roof after learning that he was conquer campaigning in the Nodostram Galaxy; technically speaking, he told them that he and a bunch of his friends were going to spend some time on Mooshang. He actually lied to go make a premature name for himself. The conquest of that galaxy wasn't easy for his three thousand, four hundred, and twenty-one year old self, but he managed to conquer it; he got quite wealthy in the process.

The twenty lashes that he received after getting home were bad, but he understood the reason behind them—he lied, was caught lying, and he also went off to do something that could of gotten him killed. Fifty year post graduation from The Dark School of Evil, he was hankering for his own roof, and space. While what his father said was proved to be true—the move was hard, as was the keeping up of his residence—, he had managed to keep his chin up and learn by his many mistakes. His mother had come close to screaming herself raw after he left the residence that he spent most of his teenage years in; conversation between him and them had ceased for all of ten years, then his father suddenly showed up on his doorstep. A talk here, a talk there, a patch up, and so forth; things had worked out fine. Everyone calmed down after a while.

Right now, he had two residences to his name. The one that he and Egla lived in—all of the staff were ordered to vacate it, then everything was put in stasis; he didn't know what he was going to do with it—, and this one. Other than them, he also had a residence in each of the galaxies that he conquered over the years; even though he had them, he lived primarily on Gamma Vile. His third residence, which he would buy sometime before Shlock's Plague struck, was just built; it had yet to be put on market. The fourth residence, which was the one that he and his son would live in during the plague, wasn't his yet; the fifth, which he'd buy sometime before he signed the fourth one over to his son, wasn't built yet.

Unlike him, Duru wasn't going to be allowed to make the same mistakes that he made as a youngster. His son was going to wait before becoming a conqueror, and he was also going to stay with him until he deemed him ready to move out into the adult scheme. He and his only wife had raised their daughter in this place; the same occurred when he took on the parenting of his and his first fiancée's daughter. He and Egla had never lived in this residence; for this, he was glad—his heart still ached for her. He didn't know if he could of moved or lived in the place if she was once here.

Teluder Kakian Considers Lowering Gas Prices

That was what the headline of the newspaper's front page article said. The ruler of the M-51 Galaxy, who, one day, would be overthrown by one of his descendants, seemed to be looking after his denizens. Gas prices were a little too high for the last fifty years, and there was a lot of complaining being expressed about it; while he could easily afford the high price for gasoline, he was glad to see that the price for gas was being dropped. The article, that was on the paper's next page, said something about a sickness that was being felt around the northern planets of his birth-galaxy. Galactic illnesses were always sparking up, and they were usually benign, so he wasn't paying much attention to the sickness that, unbeknown to him, was actually running rampant around the northern sector of the galaxy. He had more pressing matters to take care of, and worry about at the moment; he didn't have time to worry about galactic illnesses, or a "small-range" virus that was being experienced by the ones who lived on the galaxy's northern-most planets.

Ring! Ring!

He finished the cleaning of the kitchen then went into the hallway, where a phone was. He grabbed the phone's handset then held it to his ear; if he had known of who it was that was calling him, he would of either hung up or not answered it.

"Hello—Surfeit Residence. Who's—"

"About time I got your pompous ass on the line." ShaamVile looked at the ceiling; it was his son's maternal grandfather—the ever annoying and frustrating, Lorboriann Shaar.

"Lor, what is it you want?" he asked.

"Lorboriann you oaf!" he smirked. Egla's father had never liked him calling him "Lor". "And you know what I want—I and the missus have a grandchild that we've never seen; we'd like to see him."

"Yes, and I'm still debating on whether to let you do so."

"Must I remind you of who I am to that child? I could well take you to court for custody—"

"Over my dead, lifeless, body!"

"That can be arranged."

"Shall another visit by the cops be arranged? I could have you arrested for life-threat for that comment."

"Amjufaria and I have only seen photos of the kid. You've been very stingy in keeping Dlaku—"

"—Duru," ShaamVile corrected. The two had never gotten his son's name right; it was either Dlaku, Doobu, Delu, or something that was outrageous.

"Whatever. You've still kept us from seeing him." Lorboriann said. "He's apart of us too. Remember that, Shaam. Half of him is our daughter—who you've disgracefully taken from us with your constant demands of her bearing your young."

He and Lorboriann Shaar had never gotten along. The man hated him; he, honestly, didn't hold him, or his wife, in good favor either. The Shaar's had always insisted that he was the root of their daughter's troubles—of losing the final years of her teenage life, of losing the path that they chose for her, of losing her respect for them, and, of course, her constant losses in bearing offspring.

The Shaar's had three children, and all were girls. Their oldest was lost via miscarriage, while their middle-born moved out soon after reaching adulthood—her parents, and their overbearing ways, were the cause of that happening. Egla was their youngest child; they kept her on a very short leash for all of her young life. By the time they met, she was dying for a break from their ways. While he didn't mean for their relationship to happen, he was glad that it did. Egla was, and will always be, the best thing, female-wise, to happen to him.

Even after Duru's birth, Lorboriann hadn't changed his ways. The man had tried to get him arrested for "manslaughter"—this happened three weeks after Duru was born. The two didn't really grieve for their daughter; after hearing the news of their daughter's decease, they called the cops, then got mad after word reached them that he wasn't responsible for her passing. He didn't want his son's way of viewing the Universe, or way of seeing him, disturbed—that was why he was only sending them photographs of him, and not allowing them to see him; for all he knew, they might try to corrupt his way of life.

And he wasn't about to let the two of them take custody of his son, or lock him in a box, either.

"Make your decision and soon, Shaam. The missus and I are serious on this matter—we want to see our grandson!"

"I'll think it over real hard and get back to you." ShaamVile said.

He hung up at the same time that the thought of calling his father and stepmother, to talk to them on the situation, and get their opinion of what he should do, came to him. He stood by the phone for a few minutes before finally deciding to do that; it seemed just his luck that, once his hand was on the handset, the doorbell was rung.

"Someone get the door!" he yelled after the bell was rung twice.


	3. Chapter 3

It was, without a doubt, a toddler-room, Malakay thought after entering the room. After turning to let her stepson go past, she took in the room's decor—while small, she thought it was appropriate for the one that it was meant for.

To her left sat a brown suede couch and matching, but toddler-sized, chair. Before the two pieces of furniture was a table, that looked fitting for a child to use when they drew or decided to play with their toys. Boxes, and a lot of them, were against the far right wall; while most of them were open, and empty of what they contained, others looked to not be touched by the one who owned them. The drawings of one who was a toddler were on the wall across from her, while the baby gate behind her was snuggly connected to the walls of the open doorway—with it ensuring that her grandson stayed put, she approved of it.

To the left of the door was a 30" screen. While it was on, her grandson wasn't watching it. At the moment, her grandson was frolicking in play; it seemed that he no more reached one section of the room before moving on to the next. When her stepson entered the room, he started the routine of trying to clean it up. While Duru followed him, he did so for only a little while—when he saw her and her family, he stopped then went to hide behind the couch.

After entering the room, she stood then waited. Her husband did the same, as did Riki. Duru, after seeing that they weren't a threat, and realizing who they were, released his fear then came over. He neither walked or stopped every once in a while to look at his father before continuing—when he came over, he was running. It was an instantaneous thing that he started pulling at their pant legs; she and her husband couldn't help but laugh at his excited antics, or how cute he was while doing them.

"I do believe he knows who we are." Malakay Surfeit, née Dubalakee, said. She bent then picked the boy up; he looked at her, then at her husband, then at her oldest son, then back at her before starting to get fussy. "And I think he needs a new diaper."

"What!" ShaamVile exclaimed. He dropped the toys that he just gathered into one of the open boxes then went to his stepmother and son. The old finger-inserted-into-the-back-of-the-diaper trick was done; he grimaced, then left the room after doing this. After washing his hand, he returned to the room. "Let me clean up a bit—he has yet to be trained to pick up and then put his toys away."

"Take your time, Shaam." Malakay said. As a way to help her stepson, she left the room. When she returned a few minutes later, she had a freshly changed toddler on her. "You are a bundle of energy, Duru!"

"Believe me—that's more than true with him." ShaamVile said. Everyone laughed.

If the one who left the room wasn't related to him, or he didn't know of her intentions, he would of exploded. The toys would of been dropped, and trampled on, then he'd of gone charging after her; a bull of a man, who was hell-bent on retrieving his son from the arms of one who could have bad intentions to do. Since he knew who Malakay was, he didn't put in much of a sweat after she left the room. She only went to change his son's diaper—a thing that he would of done, after cleaning the room, that was.

"Yep, this room reminds me of how you and your siblings were at this—" RaalVile pointed at Duru. "—age."

"I'm surprised—it's usually worse than this." ShaamVile said. "Usually, the maids are working for at least an hour to get everything put up. He has nearly every box emptied by nightfall. I get a headache just thinking about it."

"Kids his age have a right in doing that." Malakay said. She bounced Duru a few times before putting him down. The second he was on the floor, Duru ran over to his father, who had a teddy bear in one of his arms. The bear was ripped from where it was... as was most of the rest of what ShaamVile was carrying

"Duru!" ShaamVile chided.

"Yes, indeedy, that's a toddler." RaalVile chuckled.

The woman that his father went and married sometime after divorcing his mother was a right lovely one. Her eyes were a dark purple color, and had bright yellow pupils in them, while her skin was a medium-purple color. The hair, that was on her head, was both long and a blue-black color. She stood a little under five foot, six inches, and was very femininely built. Her demeanor was very nice; despite this, the tabloids had gotten it wrong on her—while she wasn't "submissive" by a long-shot, she did tend to act like a stay-at-home wife and mother. His father was right taken with her; even after nearly fifty thousand years of marriage, he was still in love with her.

"Watch any and all jewels with that kid," ShaamVile warned his stepmother. He pointed at the ear that his family heirloom would normally be in. "He grabs and pulls anything he sees."

"Takes after his pop," RaalVile said as he sat on the couch. Duru ran over to him at once. "Well, the lil' one's not so spooked now. Is he?"

"Uh-uh!" DuruVile shook his head vigorously. RaalVile stood, then dug into the left side pocket of his pants, before handling the boy.

ShaamVile didn't need to ask his father what he was doing. He knew that he was going for the two corks that he usually carried on his person.

RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit was very nicely proportioned, despite being six foot, five inches. He sported a very impressive six-pack; his chest was bulging in thick, and naturally gotten, muscle while his arms and legs were very decently muscled. The man had very pronounced brow ridges, high cheek bones, and a thin nose that sported flared nostrils. He looked very much like a typical Surfeit—he was bi-colored, with the left side of his head, and body, being a plain red color and the right a light gray color. He had a good cleft on his chin. Unlike the typical Surfeit, who had shoulder or near shoulder-length ears, he had elf-like ears. Them eyes of his were quite intelligent, and were a glowing yellow color. His fingernails were both long, black, and sharply pointed.

Unlike him, and his son, the man had horns on his head. Along with being black, and sharp, they stuck out and had a reach of around fourteen inches. A few times during his conquering campaigns, his father used them to "impale" his enemies with—he just ran at, impaled, and then discarded them. While the man was relatively mean and hostile to his enemies, he was gentle with his kin—when they behaved, that was. Whenever he was around anyone who was young, his father made a point to wear a cork per horn—so not to cause any injury to the tender flesh of the ones that he was near.

The man was wearing a pair of dark red pants, from which three, rustic-made, link-faded belts hung from, a white, button down, long sleeve shirt, and black shoes.

"Whoa there, Little One!" RaalVile said after his grandson jumped on his lap. He positioned the boy a little better then bent down. The standard kiss on the forehead was given, then Duru took advantage of the horn that fell into his reach.

"Duru!" ShaamVile chided his son again.

"Yes indeedy, no fear expressed with this one now." RaalVile chuckled. Duru had grabbed and then yanked his horn down; he acted quickly to remove the toddler's hand before it could grab and then de-cork it. "I look forward to seeing how he'll be come time for his teenage years."

"Let's keep him at this age—for now, that is." ShaamVile said as he dumped the last of the toys in the boxes.

"Agreed!" Malakay said as she sat beside her husband.

"Hold on, Rik. Let me get you a chair." ShaamVile said as he left the room.

He was gone for only a minute. When he returned, the older of his younger half-siblings was still by the open doorway. It was really quite sad; his brother had once been an active, intelligent, man. Now, he moved on two speeds, and he had it all to thank on the bastard who tried to kill him during his first campaign.

He placed the first of the two folding chairs that he had down then moved off. He placed the other across from the one that his brother had yet to sit in. He sat while his brother continued to stand... and stare into space, like he usually did nowadays.

"Son," RaalVile said after a full minute went by. RikiVile looked at him slowly. "Your brother just brought and then placed a chair behind you—sit on it."

"Huuuh?" RikiVile Levav Surfeit turned. He looked at the chair then, very slowly, sat in it. "Thaaaank youuuu, Shaaaam."

"No problem, Riki." ShaamVile said.

An awkward silence filled the room for a few seconds then, as if on cue, Duru jumped from RaalVile's lap then ran over to his uncle. The toddler, who didn't know what the man had faced, held the teddy bear that he had in his hand up to him. When his uncle showed no interest in the bear, he dropped it; in order to get a response from the man, the boy grabbed and then pulled his pant legs. Riki's head angled down slowly. When he picked the boy up, he was slow; the same went when he put him on his lap.

"Gettiiiing heeeeavy, Duuuuru." RikiVile said after placing the toddler on his lap.

Duru got absolutely no attention from his uncle. He jumped from the man's lap, tripped, then went face-first to the carpet, then got up before anyone could see if he was alright. The teddy bear was left by Riki's feet. Duru went to his father, who scooped him up then held him close; the toddler, now happy to be in more attention-giving arms, hugged his father then turned around. He faced the screen; a show about forests and monkeys was being aired. He was captivated by it at once.

"Like any other child his age—his attention span is like a light switch: interested in one thing for only a short while then goes on to the next, and then the next, and so on." RaalVile chuckled.

Since Duru's attention was currently absorbed in the tv, ShaamVile got up then gestured for his parents to follow him. While on the way out of the room, he tapped his brother on the shoulder then asked him to keep an eye on his son. Whether RikiVile heard him or not, ShaamVile didn't know; despite this, he left the room then closed the gate behind him. Duru glanced in his direction once then went back to watching the screen's program.

ShaamVile led his parents down the dark blue carpeted hallway, that had light brown, textile walls, on either side of it, quickly. The kitchen that he only just gotten through cleaning was entered; he pulled a chair out from under the table then sat in it. His parent, as if knowing what was about to happen, sat at the table then waited for what their son wanted to relay to them to be spoken of. While their son seemed to be faring well since the passing of his woman, they knew he had come under hard times in the last few hundred years; they also knew he was having a time with Duru. Raising a daughter by one's self was hard, but raising a son without a woman there to lend a hand was harder. While their son had experience in raising two daughters, he had never had to go through the motions of raising a son before. He was doing his best, which was the best thing.

"You look tired, Shaam." RaalVile said, breaking the silence between them.

"Really? Seriously?" ShaamVile smiled, then leaned back in his chair. "I feel tired!"

"Maybe a nap should be taken in a few hours?" Malakay suggested.

"With having him in the house? I don't think so." ShaamVile said. "I thought the daily activities of conquering were hard; taking care of a son is harder."

"Give it time," RaalVile said. "Have you tried to "tire him out" in the morning and afternoon hours? No naps or anything; just have him play, and express them energies of his."

"You know how much energy that kid has?" ShaamVile exclaimed in a low whisper. He didn't want his son to hear what he had to say. "Even after "expressing" his energies, he refuses to sleep. He just sits and stares then, after I leave the room, starts screaming."

"Ignore him. He'll—"

"I do—the Lad screams, and screams, and screams for hours without end. By the time half of the night's spent, I've had enough. I get up then go get him. He sleeps afterwards."

"In your bed?" Malakay asked. ShaamVile nodded his head. "That's right dangerous, Shaam."

"You could roll over and squash him. Having him in your bed is not a good decision." RaalVile spoke.

"You got a better suggestion?" ShaamVile snapped. "In the morning hours, he either strews his toys all over or throws them every which way. The afternoon hours, when I'm trying to get paperwork done and phone calls answered or placed, he's crying and screaming and just won't stop. The night hours, he runs and runs and runs without end. If the mail's put near him, I can bet it'll be grabbed and then thrown all over the place—or worse, torn into a hundred pieces. Come time for meal-time, he eats only half of what he's given then either plays with the rest or throws it around the kitchen. He's—"

"So are you saying you'd be better off without him?" RaalVile asked in a serious tone. "You created this, Shaam. You and Egla. While Egla's not here, you are. You've—"

"Hell no!" ShaamVile exclaimed. "I love my son, it's just—"

"Then ball up, quit complaining, and find a suitable schedule that caters to both your and his needs." RaalVile said.

"He's teething too." ShaamVile said. RaalVile and Malakay leaned back in their chairs.

"Uh-oh." RaalVile said.

"The dreaded chew-phase starts." Malakay sighed.

The "chew-phase", as his dear wife called it, was a parent's first nightmare. It started right after the first teeth popped into place; the child, being in pain, and not speaking yet, was doing the only thing that he, or she, could think of to get rid of what they were feeling—scream and drive one insane, or cry and make one feel even more insane, or chew anything that was available to be chewed on. All of his young had gone through a particularly cruel period of teething; ironically, his second oldest son had received a "mild headache" when his daughters went through it. Unlike Ebaisha and Eblouissie, it looked like his son was to go through the whole thing with Duru—boy children usually did have more extreme periods of teething.

"Yes—the "chew-phase" has been going on for nearly thirty years, and it's been getting steadily worse." ShaamVile announced.

"First off, how many teeth does he have and how bad is it?" RaalVile asked.

"Catch," ShaamVile said after grabbing the spoon that his son used to both eat with and take his teething frustrations out on; he threw it to his father, who caught it with no trouble.

"Damn!" the spoon was covered in nicks, dents, cuts, and scrapes from his grandson's new teeth; RaalVile shuddered, then placed it on the table. "The damage to that spoon is right extreme, Shaam. Duru _must_ be _having_ a _time_."

"How many teeth does he have, Shaam?" Malakay asked the question that her husband asked but didn't get an answer to.

"On last count, eleven." ShaamVile replied. "One of his fangs is coming out now; he's gnawing on that spoon every chance he gets."

"And, of course, when them fangs come out, the parents start running." RaalVile chuckled. He then added, "Or, at least with our family."

"He's also chewing on his toys." ShaamVile said. "Them stuffed toys of his... I've had to watch him with them—he likes to chew the hard bits: the nose, and eyes."

"Giving him any ice to chew on, or—"

"Hell no!" ShaamVile snapped. "The next thing I'll know, he'll swallow before they're safe to swallow. I don't want—"

"They're water, son." while RaalVile didn't like being interrupted, he understood the reason for why his son just did so with him. "And are fast to melt once they're in the mouth."

"Give him an ice cube that'll melt fast—one that you've chiseled down to your specifications." Malakay suggested.

"There's another issue that's been bothering me, and keeping me up at nights, too." ShaamVile said.

He got up then asked his parents if they wanted anything to eat or drink. Malakay asked for a glass of water, while his father shook his head. He got his stepmother what she asked for then took his seat back; he figured that the time was no better than then to expose the situation that was going on with his son's maternal grandparents. Before exposing the situation, he sucked in enough air to fill two lungs.

"The Shaar's—Lorboriann, mostly—have been calling my number almost every day. They want to see Duru, and I'm not so sure that I should let them."

"Think I will take a glass of water now, Shaam." RaalVile sighed. ShaamVile got up; he got his father a glass of water then reclaimed his seat.

"I've been sending them pictures of Duru—"

"You shouldn't."

"They're both insisting on seeing him. Lorboriann called this morning; he mentioned something about taking me to court for custody of Duru if I don't let him or his Wench see him."

"Not letting grandparents see their grandstock isn't liable for custody lossage, Shaam." RaalVile said.

"They can't even get his name right!" ShaamVile exclaimed. "I put his name on the back of each photograph that I send them—"

"Which you shouldn't be sending them."

"—and they still get it wrong!" ShaamVile finished. "Lorboriann called my son Dlaku just minutes before you came over—"

"Get your number changed, Shaam." RaalVile said. "That or get his and his wife's blocked."

"And have them show up on my doorstep with the law then try to take my son—"

" _They're not going to take Duru, Shaam!"_ the chair that RaalVile was sitting in flew back. He stood tall, and foreboding; despite this, ShaamVile did nothing but stare at him.

Though, at first, not accepting of the relationship, he was a lot more kinder and understanding towards his son and Egla than Egla's parents were. Lorboriann Shaar still churned his blood to that day, and the sight of that woman of his... That just plain made him want to do the charge and then impale thing with his horns. He and Egla had spoken at length about how her parents were with her during her raising years; her parents weren't really parents at all. They were monsters. Point blank. Dirty, rotten, scoundrel dogs who shouldn't of been allowed to breed much less raise young. Despite the vast age differences, his son had always treated Egla right; he also conducted himself well with and around her. His son had also shown the Shaar's plenty of respect; they, in regards to what was given to them, hadn't done the same. His anger towards Lorboriann was black and deadly—he shoved a rifle under his son's chin once; he best be glad that he hadn't ever met him because, if he had, he'd of had a few broken bones, and possibly taking in air through a tube. The fact that Lorboriann also "marched" his son back to his car, and then had the nerve to smash the front passenger window with the butt-end of his rifle, didn't settle well with him too.

While Egla was nearing the age of consent, she wasn't there just yet. He understood the reason behind some of her parents' actions while, the more extreme ones—the rifle being shoved under his son's chin; his son being marched back to his car while having it stuck to his backside; the window of his front, passenger door being smashed in by its butt-end; Lorboriann trying to get his son arrested for molestation, etc.—he didn't. Despite not being in the age of consent, Egla had her rights and she voiced them well; her parents had just gone to pieces over their "prospect" not going in the direction that they wanted her to.

If his father was still around, he'd be doing more than tearing Lorboriann a new asshole. He'd of put the man in a grave in nothing flat. Same went with his grandf... no, not on the latter. Actually, negative on the both of them.

His father would of ripped the skin right off his son's back if he was alive, and his grandfather might well of rendered his son in-able to propagate if he was alive when the relationship started. Neither would of been as understanding, or calm, over the situation as he was. He had spoken his opinion, and tried to get his son to understand the fruit of a mess that he was getting himself into, then he stood back and watched... with the hope that all of what he said would be taken to heart.

"You are the parent of Duru, Shaam. You have a right in saying who does and doesn't see him. If you see Lorboriann and Amjufaria as a threat to your son's well-being, you have a right in keeping him from them." RaalVile said. He collected the chair that he threw then sat in it.

"Honestly, I fear that they'll try to do what they did with Egla to him." ShaamVile said. "I want my son to have a life. I don't want him to be thrown and then locked in a room, or kept inside for most of his young years. Knowing them, they'll do all that they can to get him to see wrong of the world that I'm bringing him up in... if they're allowed to see him, that is."

"That's a good enough reason to keep him from them." Malakay said. "That and their history towards you."

"Both of them reasons and more, Shaam." RaalVile said. "Let's discuss something else, please. My mouth turned as dry as a desert with this conversation."

"Duru's talking now,"

"Is he now?" RaalVile smiled. "Full sentences, or just one or two words at a time?"

"Shouldn't of said that he was talking because, in that sense, he's not." ShaamVile corrected himself. "He said 'Pubba' this morning."

"Pubba?" Malakay gave her stepson a funny look.

"Any association with 'papa'?" RaalVile asked after being silent for a few seconds. ShaamVile nodded his head. "Well then, the one from whom the swimmers came from wins the right of the first-spoken word. Congratulations, Shaam."

"How's the socializing going, Shaam?" Malakay asked.

This was a question that his stepmother was asking him for the last hundred years—that or has he made any friends to socialize with. With his busy schedule, he was hardly able to tend to that one area of his son's. He wasn't afraid of losing his son to anyone—that wouldn't be happening until way later on down the road, after his son met and then fell in love with a young Lass then decided to make a family of his own—, but he was nervous over who his son should associate with. He knew that children of both genders should associate with one another—that would teach his son how to act around them—but the idea of his son hanging around the wrong crowd, or becoming associated with folk of an upbringing that was less interesting that his own, worried him. His son was two hundred and five years old; he had yet to begin the process of socializing him.

"Shaam!" Malakay snapped. Stepmother or no, he didn't need to say a thing on how "well" his son's socializing was going; she automatically knew that he hadn't done it yet. "Do I need to have the talk with you again on how important it is for him to be socialized at his age? You want him to go around being an outcast, or someone who doesn't know how to act around people?"

"No,"

"Most of the time, the early steps of socialization takes place at home." Malakay said.

"Ahem, My Dear, while what you say is true, let me say a truer fact." RaalVile cleared his throat. "While Duru has two siblings, they're older than he. Socializing is best done with a group that's closer in age."

"Take him to a park, then." Malakay suggested. "Or, call up one of your friends and set-up a playdate."

"Lady made a good suggestion, Shaam." RaalVile smiled. "Didn't I hear at one time that Klospin and Ecassie have a little one of around Duru's age?"

"They do but their household's a bit upside down right now—paternity dispute going on; they're at each other's throats, and haven't been very communicative lately."

"Manolie and Debru?" Malakay asked.

"They have an infant daughter."

"Koorizan and Yitriza?"

"Don't make me laugh." ShaamVile chuckled. "While they have kids, they're in their teen years. Much too old for Duru."

"Was going to ask about Mormimin when I realized that he's not with anyone, or has any kids." RaalVile laughed lightly.

"Take him to a park, then let him play on the equipment, or in one of the sandboxes. Keep an eye on him, but let him initiate play with the kids that are around him." Malakay said. "A parent's job is to guide and protect, but the child's got to have some say on who he or she wants to be friends with."

He nodded his head then excused himself. He checked on his son real quick—he was playing with the bear that was left at Riki's feet; nothing amiss looked to be going on in the room—, then he went to his office for his appointment book. After collecting it, he brought it to the kitchen then opened it; he was fast in thumbing through the events that he was either slated to do or made a memo of. As fate would have it, there was an opening for later on the next day that'd be perfect for a park visit—a full two hours of unbooked time; he and Duru could take it up with a visit to a park then, maybe, an ice cream shop. He scheduled the outing then placed the book, and his pen, down on the table. Malakay nodded her head; she was pleased with his decision.

"What're Ebaisha and Eblouissie up to nowadays?" RaalVile asked.

"The usual—men, and shopping." ShaamVile replied.

"Any marriage prospects?"

"Not that I know of."

"They're at that age where finding a suitable man to marry happens, Shaam. Heed my advice—be on your toes." RaalVile said.

"Haven't heard a thing of Uncle Trob for a while; what's the old coot up to?" ShaamVile asked.

"Been wondering if he's not lost a few screws upstairs, Shaam." RaalVile answered. "For the last six months, he's been digging a hole about a hundred feet from his place. He won't say why he's doing it but he says he's making a sort of underground bunker."

"A what?"

"Your guess on why is as good as mine."

"He's been doing all the work himself; no contractors involved." Malakay spoke. "After digging to around twenty or so feet, he went shopping for concrete and steel."

"That doggone thing's fifty feet wide! The last time I paid him a visit, he was making a "wall" that split the thing in two." RaalVile chuckled.

"That poor woman of his is probably wondering if he's gone senile." Malakay laughed, then smiled. "She's pregnant, you know that, Shaam?"

"No. The last I hear of them was four month ago. When'd she catch?" ShaamVile asked. This piece of information was new to him; while he knew of his uncle and aunt having two daughters, he didn't know about the upcoming baby. He made a note to call his uncle and then congratulate him on the success of another mouth to feed.

"About three months ago." RaalVile replied. "Believe it or not, he had enough in him to create two."

"Get out of town! Serious? Twins?" ShaamVile asked.

"Two in one." RaalVile smiled.

"I'll definitely make a call to him t—"

The protective parent instinct kicked in after he heard the cough—it started low, and was faint, then it got loud. He was just shooting up from his chair when a wheeze was heard.

He tore out of the room that he was in like a bat out of hell. His father and stepmother jumped from their chairs then ran after him the second he was off. A million things ran through his mind on what could be happening: a type of baby and toddler cough was going around, which his son might of contracted; something might of fallen on his son, and was causing him to suffocate; his son might just be coughing for the hell of it... Whatever the reason for the cough, and its wheezy additions, he had to check it, and his son, out. He'd smile and laugh if it was nothing; if it was something that wasn't innocent, he'd be glad for the quick dash from the kitchen, and the near heart attack that came before the wheezing began.

He charged down the hallway; a silent bull of a man, who was only focused on the reason behind the toddler-cough and wheeze that he heard. The cough had grown louder, as had the wheeze. When he reached the gate that barred him from the room that his son was in, he wasted no time in breaking it open—an explosion happened, then the gate's plastic and metal pieces flew, as did bits and pieces of the doorframe. His brother was doing nothing more than sitting in his chair; he was facing the wall, doing nothing but watching the imaginary man do his funny dance. His son, on the other hand, was near the screen; his half-black, half-silver face was pale, and his hands were clutching at his throat. He was gasping for air! He ran to him, grabbed him, then started slapping him on the back.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His son continued to cough and wheeze. Six. Seven. Ei—

"Aaaaaaaaaaa eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" his son cried after a small, black item was dispelled from his throat.

"You idiot!" ShaamVile turned on his brother, who was slowly getting to his feet. He cradled his son as he went towards, grabbed, and then threw the man to the wall that the drawings were on. "How would you like it if I did nothing but sit while your son is choking to death? I asked you to watch him and you—"

"Shaam!" RaalVile said.

"—couldn't even do that! I could of lost my son because of your lame, retarded ass!"

If this was happening under different circumstances, he'd of let his wife go forward to discipline Shaam and then retrieve Riki from the clutches that meant him harm. Since what was happening was so serious, and Riki was caught napping while on the job of babysitting, he held Malakay back.

Riki, at one time in his long life, was a right capable, smart man. The event that happened two thousand, eight hundred, and twelve years ago had really scarred him for life; it also robbed him of a son. Riki, the oldest of his and Malakay's children, had gone off to conquer his first galaxy with high hopes of being successful. With his upbringing, and parentage and then-appearance, he was set for life to be a good follower of his. Alas, though, he was attacked while leading a charge across a bridge; one of the enemy was waiting under it then, when his son ran across it, he thrust a pike up and then through one of the holes that were between the boards. The enemy was trying to kill his son by skewering him through the ass; while he wasn't successful in taking his son's life, he was successful in taking the once capable, smart son that he had.

Instead of going through his son's ass, puncturing the major organs, and causing Riki to bleed out internally, the enemy punctured his testicles. Riki might of jumped back in time to avoid the pike's sharp end penetrating his rectum but he wasn't fast enough to avoid being injured. Riki's conquering campaign had ended right after that event happened. His mental state was altered; he was a hopeless robot now. The pike had done so much damage to his son's balls that a practicing physician had no other choice but to amputate them. While he still loved his son, and was glad to have him around, he wished that there was something that he could do to help him. Riki's movements were slower than slow; he had no ambition to do anything; and that mechanical-like voice that he had was annoying.

He and Malakay were at Riki's bedside from the moment he was injured to when he was deemed as being well enough to get up and start moving around.

The difference between his two sons was outstanding; they were truly opposites of one another.

Shaam stood an impressive, six foot, six inches. He was built much like a child's spinning top toy—big up top with a more "slender" appearance from the waist on down. The left side of his head and body was a carmine pink color while the other side was maroon. Shaam's ears ran the entire length of his shoulders; along with being a burgundy color, they had about four or five black, Tiger-like stripes on them. The eyes that looked out of his face were a glowing white color, while their pupils were tiny and red. His son's nails were maroon in color, and came to a mildly sharp point. Shaam's arms were huge, and bursting in muscle; his chest was barrel-shaped, and thick in muscle.

Riki, on the other hand, looked like a thin-trunked tree in comparison. The muscle that he once had on his body had whittled away; he now had a lean build that was nearly devoid of muscle. His oldest son from his second marriage had four horns on his head; along with being a near-black color, they were smooth. Like his. Like Shaam, Riki had a bi-colored body; his left side was a medium-blue color, while the right was black. He had his elf-like ears. The eyes that were once right intelligent were a glowing gray color; they had dark blue pupils in their centers. Riki's fingernails were a dark blue color; Malakay made sure to keep them short.

Riki had never come close to Shaam, or Zaal, for that matter, in muscle-mass, but he did have a lot of muscle on him before his accident. Riki was wearing a pair of blue formal pants, matching shoes, and a white, long sleeve, button down shirt.

"Looks like we've overstayed our welcome, Malakay." RaalVile said as he went towards his sons.

ShaamVile was staring fiercely at his brother, who looked terrified, but couldn't act out that terror thanks to his mental handicap. RaalVile slowly separated his sons, then grabbed Riki by the shoulder; he threw him in Malakay's direction, then stood his ground. Malakay took their son from the room then down the hall; he followed them a few seconds later. When they got into their car, RaalVile wasted no time in chiding Riki, or getting out of ShaamVile's driveway.

ShaamVile turned his attention towards the care of his son, and to what was dispelled from his throat. As he comforted his son, he bent down then picked up the item that shot out of his mouth. One look was all he needed to become infuriated—that damn teething phase was worrying him for a while now; it looked like it was time for him to get down and dirty on certain things that his son was allowed to play with.

"If there's any Wench's near my area, come and at once!" he roared. Six maids came into the room a few seconds later. ShaamVile grabbed the bear, that was now lacking its hard, plastic nose, then threw it at one of them. "Spread the word! I want any and all of my son's stuffed toys to be gathered. All items—buttons, noses; anything that can be chewed off and then swallowed, or can be a hazard to my son—are to be removed. If I find one toy with one or more of those items still remaining, there'll be dire consequences, here me?"

"Crystal, sir." the maids all said. They went to work in collecting the room's stuffed toys while their employer left the room. Young Duru, while still upset, had since stopped crying.


	4. Chapter 4

"Alright there, Lad." ShaamVile said after strapping his son to his car seat.

Duru, clad in a pair of pants that were tied at the knees, a baggy, white shirt that had a V-shaped neck, and black shoes, looked at his father before trying to get free from where he was. ShaamVile, knowing this wasn't to happen, closed the door to his car then went to its other side; when he got there, he got behind the wheel then swung the belt around himself. After starting the car, but before taking it down the drive, he gave his son a toy—one of them play-along steering wheels, that he thought would keep him preoccupied while on the way to the park, which was a little over seven miles away.

Life for him and his son had become a little hectic after yesterday's fright. Duru had taken some time to calm down; after taking a nap, he joined him in his office for a while. While answering or placing calls, doing paperwork, and reading through the resumés that came in, he kept an eye on him—he was mostly quiet during this time, which was a relief because he got in a half-day's worth of work before he started his usual, boisterous, actions. Most of the lunch that he made for Duru wasn't eaten. He spent a good thirty minutes cleaning the kitchen after that meal was consumed. The next meal was just as tumultuous; instead of eating his spaghetti, Duru threw around thirty percent of it around. With his son being bathed in tomato sauce from head to foot, he needed a bath. Another bath was given at around ten-thirty, after Duru creamed his diaper—his son had, somehow, gotten it off; most of what was in it was thrown around the room that he was in.

A maid had let him in on that situation—after going into the room to return some of Duru's stuffed toys to their usual boxes, she about screamed herself hoarse. With his not having his usual toys around to keep him company, his son decided to "play" with the diaper that he removed from himself.

Sleep was good. He got in around four hours before being aroused by a certain young man who liked throwing his shit all over the place. Duru had spent the rest of the night with him; no further sleep had happened for him afterwards. Duru was good come wake-time. He had eaten his french toast and eggs, before having a good play-session in his toddler-proofed room; he was still in the room when he heard the words _want to go to the park_. As expected, a mild episode was experienced when he dressed his son—Duru didn't want to get dressed for the occasion. After wrestling him into the clothes that he was wearing, he turned to get the baby bag ready; while his back was turned, Duru took all of what he was wearing off. After the second attempt to get him dressed, Duru stayed clothed.

"Everything removed that I said to be removed?" he remembered asking the maids after seeing that his son's toddler room had its collection of stuffed toys in it.

"Yessir," one of the maids returned.

"Buttons?" the maid nodded her head. "The eyes and noses?" the maid nodded her head again. "Vests? Attached plastic items? Hat buttons? Shoes?"

"Yessir. Everything that you requested to be removed was removed."

Duru was happy to have his toys back. For his son, it didn't matter if they had buttons, noses, eyes, or any other nifty items on them. He just cared about having them back—he didn't need to be told that he missed them. Last night, after going to retrieve him from his chamber, after he woke up and started crying and screaming, he found his bed as being dominated by the toys that his son wanted to sleep with.

A call was placed to his uncle last night. The man's wife, a lovely dish by the name of Bahne Brotzol, had answered. She made it clear that her husband couldn't be disturbed—after working on his "project", he went upstairs for a nap. Instead of congratulating the man responsible for the womb-roosting twins, he congratulated the woman who was carrying them. A short conversation was held between them before he went to make supper. Bahne claimed that she didn't know the reason behind this "hole" that her husband dug near their home; she just said that he started making it one day, and that he didn't explain the reason for why.

Danan and Dazass, Bahne and Trobrencus's two girls, who were in their four hundred year ranges, and a mere fifty years apart in age, were said to be doing well. They were ecstatic over the new siblings that they were to get. The girls wanted to know if they were to get a brother or sister duo, or a brother and sister. Neither Bahne nor Trobrencus knew the genders of their unborn young; it was too soon in Bahne's pregnancy for a gender to be noticed.

Bahne had invited him and Duru over for a visit the following week. He was waiting to hear from her husband before making it. With his uncle being so busy with that hole of his, a visit with a toddler might not be up his alley.

"Trying to be funny, or drive us off the road?" ShaamVile asked his son, who, while imitating his driving, was doing his just opposite actions.

"Nuhgu dwib." DuruVile replied.

"Don't run us off the shoulder now," he said when his son turned the wheel of his toy to the right. When his son honked the "horn", he laughed. "And let's not annoy the other drivers."

They reached the park a little under fifteen minutes later. Once there, he left his car then went to its other side. Duru was removed from his car seat, then the baby bag was retrieved before the car was locked up. He took his son to where the sandboxes were after doing that; with there being a few kids, who looked to be in or around his son's age, in them, he thought his son might want to play in them. He placed his son in the nearest box then went to where the most conveniently placed bench was.

"Let him initiate play with the kids that are around him—a parent's job is to guide and protect, but the child's got to have some say on who he or she wants to be friends with." he remembered his stepmother saying yesterday.

Duru did nothing but sit in the box for the longest of time before moving towards the three kids that were in it. He didn't know if it was a sign but his son seemed to be right "taken" with the little girl; he played with her for a while before moving off to play with the bigger of the two boys. A small issue was encountered between the two—the boy, who was around ten of so pounds heavier, and taller and more sturdily built, pushed his son a few times before backing off. Duru, though a small thing, had managed to hold his own. Two good shoves, a "mild" fight, then peace was achieved between them. He wondered if that was another sign of things to come; first, his son showed an interest in the girl, then he had a slight altercation with the bigger of the boys. He had won it. It looked like he was a warrior in the making; he couldn't help but be proud of him.

After nearly thirty minutes of playing in the box, Duru went to where the playground equipment was. He watched as he went to the slide; his son went up the ladder with no trouble at all, and the same occurred when he went down the slide. After Duru went down the slide a few times, he went to where the springers were. His son, he realized, must of had a change of mind because, after reaching the springers, he stopped then went towards the teeter totters. He played on one all by himself for a little while before stopping, falling to his butt, then starting to cry. He got up then went to him after he did that.

"Hey, My Lil' Warrior, what's wrong?" ShaamVile asked after reaching his son.

He dropped to his knee then scooped his son up. He discovered the problem afterwards; during his play on the teeter totter, he gained a splinter to his thumb. He extracted the splinter, kissed the finger, then placed his son down. Duru grabbed him by the hand then "dragged" him to where the gaily-colored tunnels were. Duru disappeared into one of the tunnels after reaching them; he was gone for all of a few seconds before reappearing. He had only to see his son's face to know what he wanted—with no one around to play with, his son decided to initiate play with him. Duru was to go into the tunnels and he was to run to each of their ends and call out for him.

"Alrighty then," ShaamVile said after his son, once again, disappeared into the tunnel that he went into. "Where's that Lad o' mine? Duru? Where are you?"

"Pubba!" his son crawled out of the yellow-colored tunnel, which was two down from the one that he went into.

"There he is!" he said. He went to the tunnel quickly. Duru automatically disappeared; the game was restarted.

The game that they were playing ran a span of ten minutes before his son ran off to where the swings were. He followed him, then pushed him after he sat on one of the seats. His son played on the swing for a few minutes before getting off then going to where the Big-Boy tunnels were. He was reluctant to let him play on them but, after he started insisting on trying them out, he let him. Who knew, maybe the Lad would do fine with them. If not, Duru could always cry for him. He'd track him down, claim him, calm him down, then take him back to the tunnels that were more appropriate for one of his age. Duru went into the first tunnel then disappeared; the same routine that happened with the other tunnels was repeated. Duru, after exiting the red one, that had a set of grooves on its bottom, and handle bars on its top, went into the purple one.

"For such a little thing, he sure navigates them tunnels well." a nearby Goteian woman, who had black fur, green eyes, and "nubby" horns on her head, said.

"Surprising me—this is his first time to this park." ShaamVile returned.

Since his son was busy with traversing the tunnel that he went into, he paid a little attention to the Goteian woman. In the last two hundred and five years, he hadn't had any bed action or contact with one of the female gender—the maids that worked for him didn't count in either area; they were only to work for him. His time was split between either his son or the governing of his galaxies. He spoke with the woman, found that she was married, and had three kids of her own, then turned his attention back to where his son was. The conversation with the woman had taken just three minutes; he hadn't seen his son come out from the tunnels in that time. He stood by the tunnels for a few more minutes then grew a bit concerned; after another minute passed, he started calling for him.

"Duru?" ShaamVile said. "You in there, Duru?"

He had no idea where his Pubba was. After coming from the... big, round thing that had no inside, and was red on both the inside and outside, he found himself alone. No Pubba around. While he wanted to sit and cry, and attract his Pubba's attention, he found himself as drawn to a bunch of bushes. He had just gotten to them when a big bird flew at him. He made no sound as the animal flapped past him; the orange and black chest, and the big, claw-like feet, were the only things that he saw of it. His Pubba liked birds; he had one in his office that was a bright red and orange color. He called it a Pheee-Oh-Nix; it was big, just like the one that flew at him, but it was tame.

He checked the bush after reaching it. When he found two, round things, that were in a collection of twigs, grass, and straw, he played with them—curiously, they cracked, then spewed a liquid on what they were on after he touched them. With the objects no longer holding his attention, he crawled on. It was a short while before he found himself by a fence; after standing, he grabbed and then looked through it. Seeing as there was nothing of interest on its other side, he walked along it—this walking thing, which he was still getting use to, was getting better with each day; he liked it, and was finding new things to do with it. He had just reached a corner when he heard someone calling for him.

"Doe-rooo?" the caller, who seemed to have one of those bleating voices, that made a chill course down his back, said.

"Pubba?" DuruVile said.

The hands that took him were not his Pubba's! They grabbed and then jerked him out of the bush. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, then looked up; the man that he saw was definitely not his Pubba. Who was he, and the one behind him? He took one look at the pair then started to sniffle. He was crying before he, and they, knew it.

" _Duru!"_ ShaamVile came close to screaming.

Three minutes! Not only had he left his post to talk to some Wench but his son also vanished. Had he done anything after noticing his son as being a no-show? Had he grown concerned, or started looking for him? That was a big Hell No! He just stood by the tunnels, waiting for him to come out.

So much could of happened in that time! Someone could of seen Duru, and then decide to rush up and do the grab and then run routine. His son could of wandered off to some other area in the park. An animal could of come upon him, or his son could of come upon one and then grown curious about it. He could imagine it now; after leaving the tunnel that he was in, Duru found a snake, or one of the planet's frogs, then picked it up. Duru was putting anything that he found in his mouth—if a frog was happened upon, and his son put it in his mouth, he would be a goner. If his son came upon a snake, he'd be even more of a goner. The snake would of been picked up... Duru would of picked it up out of curiosity, and it would of reacted in a natural way by biting him.

He shrank to the size of a rat then traversed the tunnels. He paid each of them special attention, and hoped that he'd find Duru all curled up in one of them. Sleeping soundly. His playtime at the park had just tired him out, he tried thinking. Instead of coming out of the tunnel that he went into, he curled up then went to sleep. This thought started out strong then grew pale after he finished going down half of the available tunnels that were in the cluster; he found no son of his sleeping, or just sitting in the tunnels that he searched. No sleeping babe met his eyes. His chest grew heavy after he finished his rounds; after exiting the last tunnel, he returned to his normal size then started making his rounds of the area where the tunnels were.

He checked the bushes. The fence that lined the outer edges of the park. The small-kids' playground equipment—who knew, maybe his son returned to this part of the park or something. Then he searched the area that was on the opposite side of where the playground equipment was. When he found no Duru anywhere in the area, he contemplated grabbing his cellular then calling the cops. Go to the park, his stepmother said. Let Duru play and make some friends, she said. Malakay had not said for him to lose his son, or for him to engage in conversation with a Wench. He felt like a failure. A terrified failure of a father, who just lost his one and only s—

"Ahhhhhh eh-eh-eh-eh-eh," he heard a cry off to his left. Behind the bushes that separated the park from a bunch of basketball courts.

"Why's he crying? He has nothing to cry about." a woman, who's voice he automatically recognized, said.

"Because he knows nothing of us." he ran over to the bushes after hearing the voice that, he was sure, belonged to his fiancée's father. "That bumblefoot of a father of his has kept him from us... He doesn't know who we are. He's scared, nothing more."

"Stop him from doing that, will you? Before he attracts attention." the woman said.

He crashed through the bushes at the same time that the hand—from which counted money for all of thirty-three thousand years, and was mean and rough, but soft and clean—struck his son. While he disciplined his son in such a manner, he had never put so much oomph into his strikes, nor caused him to fall over. The hand that struck his son belonged to only one being—the bastard who was his beloved's father. His son's maternal grandfather stood from his crouched position after seeing him; instead of acknowledging him, he raced to his son's side then scooped him up. With his son's whereabouts known, and with him being with him, he glared at the two who were in his company.

"Shaam," Lorboriann Shaar said smugly.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" ShaamVile demanded to know.

"Got a tip," Amjufaria said in her hard, sharp, non-feminine voice.

"You've kept him from us. We figured that we'd do a quick tracking to see him ourselves." Lorboriann said.

"Pubba!" his son cried into his shoulder.

How his beloved came by her gorgeous, exotic looks with having these two as her parents was beyond him. Both were of the Synamon species, but neither had Egla's looks, or fine sense of character. Amjufaria Shaar had dark gray hair, that was cropped to her small, round ears, and jade-green eyes. While Egla received a version of the color of her mother's eyes, she didn't get her cat-like pupils from her. Amjufaria's face was hard, like stone, and not very pretty to look at. She stood just four foot, eleven inches. Her outfit was quite bland: an all-gray dress, with matching heels. There was no makeup, or jewelry, on her.

Lorboriann and he eyed one another for a long stretch. The man, who did nothing but sit behind a desk in a bank somewhere, had one hell of a mean face to himself. He had right light, blond hair—which was cut nearly to his scalp—and steel-gray eyes from which two, yellow, cat-like pupils were in the center of. While Amjufaria's complexion was light, Lorboriann's was dark. Lorboriann stood just five foot, two inches—like his wife, his attire was bland. He was wearing a pair of brown, canvas pants, a white, long sleeve, button down shirt, and dark brown shoes. The pocket of his shirt had two pens, a pencil, and a small notepad in it.

These two people had caused his and Egla's first five years to be chaotic. They also caused the first half of Egla's life to be boring. Instead of letting their daughter enjoy her young years, and letting her have a real education, in a real educational facility, they half-taught her at home and barred her from the things that a normal kid would do. They did their best to make their daughter form a shell around herself, something of which their daughter had just not allowed to happen.

He gave the two only one good quality—they were the cause of his beloved's existence. Without them, Egla would of never been born and, without their overbearing ways, which had already put a significant strain on their and their daughter's relationship, he never would of met or fallen for their daughter.

"You've not changed your ways, Shaam." Lorboriann said. "The sight of a woman is enough to deter you from keeping after your son."

"Bringing him to this filthy place also speaks volumes." Amjufaria cawed.

"I'm innocent in bringing him here." ShaamVile said in defense. "As for the broad, we did nothing but talk. There's nothing criminal in doing that."

"No, but you letting Dubo wander around on his own is." Lorboriann smiled. His teeth looked no different than what they were when they first met. Along with being green, and crooked, they were small and irregularly placed.

"If I knew he left the tunnels—"

"You did nothing but stand while he crawled around on his own." Lorboriann said.

"I thought he was in the tunnels—"

"Which you should never of let him go in." Amjufaria said. Her small, yellowish-green teeth flashed when she smiled.

"He was playing—"

"He's hopping along, like the scaredy cat he's always been." Amjufaria laughed.

Lorboriann stepped forward. He eyed the man suspiciously then placed his hand on Duru's back after he made the motion to remove him from his arms. He and his father-in-law stared at one another before he decided to put his son down. Instead of putting his son on the grass before him, he put him behind him—he didn't trust the man who had the nerve to strike him, and he knew it. Lorboriann looked at him, then at Duru, who was peeking out from behind his legs. Duru had never seen these people before; he didn't know if they were safe to be around—that toddler instinct to hide behind the one who he knew most had kicked in. Lorboriann, regardless of having and then raising two daughters, obviously didn't know this. He knelt down then peered at his son, who didn't move from where he was.

The muscle in his body grew tight as he waited for what was to happen next. Just because they were in a park didn't mean that he'd not defend himself, or his son. He wouldn't be but so hard on the man if he tried to hurt him—he out-sized, outweighed, and was far smarter than him fifty-to-one—but, if he tried to hurt his son... All hell would break loose if that happened. Lorboriann would be put in the hospital if he so much as placed a finger on Duru.

While he was ready for it, he was a half-second too late to prevent it. Lorboriann flashed his arm forward; he grabbed his son by the wrist, then dragged him out from behind him. Duru made a protesting squeal then charged at the man; even though he was a toddler, he knew how to defend himself. After running, and then crashing into the man, he swung his fist at him. Lorboriann fell back to his keister after being assaulted; he yelled, then grabbed his nose, which wasn't only broken but also bleeding a thick, dark orange fluid. He grabbed his son then pulled him back to being behind him. Duru neither struggled or put up a squawk over being pulled away from the enemy.

"Hot blood! He's just as I said he was!" Lorborian exclaimed. The collar and chest of his shirt had blood on it. Blood was still pouring from his nose.

"You take our daughter from us then sire this monstrosity." Amjufaria sniffed.

"We warned our daughter! We warned her that he'd taint her good, cool blood and look here, that warning has proven true!" Lorboriann shouted. "I wouldn't be surprised if the monster's the one who killed her—killed while in childbirth... by her own son!"

"Duru had no involvement in Egla's passing." ShaamVile growled.

"The Surfeit family holds no good blood. It's always full of anger, and hate. Always hot. Never good. That family of yours is a disgrace—always has and will be." Amjufaria hissed.

"To one of your caliber, it is." ShaamVile returned the hiss.

"You should all be wiped out of existence—wipe the lot, with the brat included in the mix, from the face of the Universe!" Amjufaria sang. "No good has come from conquerors, or the loins that have produced Surfeit heirs."

"Watch your tongue, Wench! My family is a good one. With good blood in its veins, and a good backing history that we're all proud of." ShaamVile bellowed.

"You have always sickened me," Amjufaria's face bore a wide, evil smile on it that caused him to go on the defense at once. "You and your ways. You and your family. You take but never give back. You conquer and cause trouble. You kill. You tarnish and steal the lives of good folk. And now you've got what you wanted—you caused our daughter to be a breeding factory just to produce the next in line. You and that brat shall rot in hell one day for the tarnishing and stealing of our daughter, By the Almighty Gods, you will."

"We were warned by the butler who told us to be here," Lorboriann said as he got to his feet. "The brat is a Devil, he said. We decided to hold judgement until we saw for ourselves what he's like—the butler was correct! The Devil. Another Surfeit to cause chaos in the Universe. A child who will cause us, our blood, and family shame. A disgrace!"

As the man rattled on, he picked his son up then glanced around. The Shaar's were causing a lot of unwanted attention to be attracted in their direction; while he was pissed over their words, he decided, for his and his son's sake, to not react to them. He let the Shaar's talk, and rant their words, then, after they shut their traps, nodded his head. He said in a language that they understood that they were wrong about what they said, and then for them to watch their backs. Amjufaria had unknowingly—since she wasn't given a proper education, she didn't know the rights and wrongs of saying or doing spells—said a spell that placed a curse on him and his son. He mouthed the counter-spell to cancel it after she set it on them. After leaving the park, he had plans to call the authorities. One who went around, saying spells so freely, was a big threat to society.

Duru made no protests when they left the park. He grabbed the baby bag from where he left it then went to his car. He slid his son into his car seat, buckled him in, then ran to the car's other side. The thought of using his cellular, then calling his father to tell him about what just happened between he, his son, and the Shaar's, came to him after he pushed the key into the ignition; after a while, he decided to postpone the tale of what happened. The authorities needed to be contacted first; he could tell his father what happened later.

They left the park in a hurry, then sped down the street before slowing down. He was halfway home when he decided to pull into the shop that he just saw.

Duru had just had a rather traumatic experience. The first—and only, if he had anything to say on it—meeting with his maternal grandparents had gone horribly. Calling the authorities could be postponed until they got home; he needed to tend to his toddler, who was being awfully quiet.

He took Duru from his car seat then carried him into the shop. A chocolate and strawberry ice cream was ordered for his son, then a coffee-flavored ice cream was ordered for him; at the last minute, he ordered a pretzel stick for his son, who he thought would appreciate it. While sitting at the table, he spoon-fed Duru his ice cream; when Duru asked for a taste of his, he was reluctant to do so. Coffee-flavored ice cream, while appropriate for an adult, was rather unappetizing to a toddler. He relented after giving it a good thinking-over; Duru, as expected, made a face after taking in the spoonful that he gave him. As he ate his ice cream, he tore small pieces off the pretzel; Duru ate half of it then yawned—he took this as a sign that his son was tired, and that it was time to go home.

"You've had a rough day, Lad." ShaamVile said after putting his son in his car seat for the third time in less than two hours. "Let's hope that tomorrow's better for you. You deserve good days—not day's where highly-negative people show up."


	5. The Unnoticed Cloud

"Hey there, Mister!" ZaalVile said while scooping his nephew up from the floor, then placing him on his lap. He bounced him a few times before jerking his head back; after dodging the punch, he placed Duru down. "Might want to consider getting him a punching bag, Shaam. Seems that whenever I pick him up, he flashes a fist at me."

"Sorry about that," ShaamVile said. He chided his son, then leaned back in the chair that he was sitting in. "He's been acting out for the last few weeks. Something happened at the park that I took him to. Think it caused him to—"

"Alright, alright. Yes. Uh-huh, well you do your best on your end and I'll do the same on mine. Thank you, bye." RaalVile, who was on the phone with someone in the mail service, said. After hanging the phone up, RaalVile looked at his sons, then at Duru, who seemed to be mesmerized by the room's globe.

RaalVile stood up from his brown leather office chair then walked over to his grandson. He applied the corks to his horns while on the way over; after the corks were on, he bent then picked the toddler up. Duru looked at him, smiled, then turned his gaze back to the globe.

"You know what planet this is?" RaalVile pointed at one of the fifty-one planets that were depicted on the globe. The wooden circle was designed like a perfect, mini-replica of the planet that they were on; the land masses were either brown, tan, or green, while the water sources were green or blue. There were a series of three, smaller circles attached to the one that he was pointing at; a rather study piece of chicken wire connected all of them to the globe's center, which depicted the three spheres that the planets in the galaxy orbited.

Duru looked at what his grandfather was pointing at then shook his head.

"That's where you're at." RaalVile said. "Gamma Vile—the planet of your, and your family's, birth."

"Gam-Beel!" DuruVile giggled.

"You know what planet this is?" RaalVile smiled, but didn't stray from his lesson. The circle that he was now pointing at was half gray and green-blue. It had two, smaller circles attached to it.

Duru shook his head again.

"That's Moas. One of the distant planets in this galaxy." RaalVile said.

"Moooos!" DuruVile exclaimed.

"Close," RaalVile's resolve was now starting to break. After working himself back to being serious, he pointed at another circle; this one was two circles from the one that he just pointed at. It was gray, blue, and red. Unlike the other two, it had four, smaller circles attached to it. "You know what planet this is?"

"Uh-uh," DuruVile shook his head, then started getting fussy. RaalVile was quick to calm him.

"That's Mooshang. Another of the distant planets of this galaxy."

"Moosaaaang!"

"Close,"

RaalVile released the laugh that he was holding in then placed his grandson down. The globe that he was showing the boy was rather old; his great-grandfather, LynkVile Brawsck Surfeit, had owned and used it. Originally, it was to be passed down from him to his oldest son, WexVile Rulvot Surfeit; upon the two's seemingly close passing—which even he didn't know the true facts of—, it was passed down to his father, IackVile Uovo Surfeit, who, in turn, passed it down to him. His father didn't favor the passing of many of his things to his two, older sons. While the two received a good many of his things upon his passing, the globe, and ear-piece, had passed not to them but to him. His father was around when his three older children were young, so he had contact with them. RosolVile and TrobrencusVile, the products from his sire's second marriage to Birava Yamubabba, hadn't had children of their own at the time and, in fact, TrobrencusVile was single right up to their father's passing. RosolVile was on his second wife; they had two daughters and, if he heard correctly, there was another joining their family soon.

In a way, he had followed in his father's footsteps with the ear-piece. Originally, the family heirloom, which consisted of a single, gold chain that had a silver ball on its end, was passed from him to his firstborn. After ZaalVile's issue was discovered, he was forced to strip him of the honor of owning it. A meeting was called; all of his sons attended it, and listened intently as he relayed the word on why he was stripping the piece from his firstborn son and then giving it to the next-born. After doing this, he gave the piece, and its box, to its current holder.

ShaamVile was wearing the piece now. He wore it proudly; he prided himself on knowing that, one day, his grandson would own and wear it. If Duru grew into a man, then started a family of his own, he, in turn, would pass it down to his oldest son.

He hoped that the old tradition of passing the piece from father to firstborn son was upheld after Duru was given the piece and, furthermore, he hoped to still be around when the time came for it to be passed down. He was a man who belonged to the many species in the Universe who were granted the gift of immortal life. Unless he was killed in battle, or carried away by a virus, illness, or planetary or galactic disaster, he was to be around for a good lot of thousands of years more.

DuruVile ran over to his father. He climbed onto ShaamVile's lap then stared forward—it was like he knew that something important was about to take place. In a way, something was. RaalVile had placed a call to both of his older sons earlier that morning; they were told to be at his place, and in his office, at around noon. They arrived long before that scheduled appointment; instead of getting on with business, he found himself as having to deal with the matter that revolved with the mail service. His wife had gone to stay with Olia, his youngest child from his first marriage. Olia and her husband, Paegslar Gotaela, had just welcomed a baby boy to their household. Their first. Malakay had gone over to assist in the birth, which, he was told, wasn't an easy one. Rather ironically, his and Malakay's firstborn daughter, Varai, had given birth at the same time. Varai and her husband, Corran Howyan, had also welcomed a son to their household. The birth for them was much smoother than Olia's. Corran had sent a bunch of photographs in the mail and he, who wanted to see them, had yet to get them.

All of this happened a week ago. He was concerned over the photographs being either lost or stolen by someone who was out to make a quick buck on his family. He could imagine the headlines now—Grandsons Born To RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit Two Days Apart; Surfeit Family Grows By Two In Two Days Time; Universe Shivers With Terror Over Two Infant Grandsons Born To RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit.

He went to his desk then sat down. His hands were folded, then he looked at his sons, who, for the past two weeks, had been quite naughty in being rather elusive.

"Been a while since I've heard from either of you." he said. "The eighth of July; that's when I last heard from you, Zaal. Shaam, the last I heard from you was when I, Malakay, and Riki paid you and Duru a visit—same day as Zaal, but a few hours apart. Can I be told why the elusiveness happened between us, please?"

"Been in and out of the hospital." ZaalVile replied. RaalVile gave him a concerned look.

"Have you been ill, Zaal? The last I saw of you, you looked happy and healthy." RaalVile asked.

"No. No illness. Just trying to get the units to work like they should. Suha's been quite a presence at my side during the procedures." ZaalVile replied.

"And?"

"Was released from Madreler two days ago. No change."

This shouldn't be but so much of a surprise to him. His son was declared infertile some twenty to thirty thousand years ago. He and his wife, Suha Binet, had tried the usual techniques of just waiting until the juices that his son produced settled. They did the sex-thing once daily. They tried the drugs that enhanced one's experience in the sack—the ones that made a man's pecker grow to over its usual size... and were said to make a man more potent when, in reality, they didn't. After the enhancers didn't work, they went to a counselor, who wasn't much help to them, or their little problem. After the counselor, they tried sex therapy—he still laughed inside over remembering the two going and doing them sessions—then, after that didn't worked, they participated in a doctoral study.

A team of doctors had watched over a hundred men and women, who experienced trouble in either conception or having sex, have sex. About half of the couples who participated in that study were cured of their issues; the other half went on their way without being cured.

After the study came the hospital visits. While his son did plenty of jerking off in a cup, Suha allowed a doctor to remove some of her eggs. Their stuff was tested after being extracted from them; Suha's eggs were discovered as being fully viable, while his son's semen was found to either have no tails or be dead. ZaalVile was trying to get the factories to work by going to all of these doctors; each time he went, he was told that there was nothing no one could do to help him.

His son and daughter-in-law had two options. They could either be a childless couple or adopt a child or two. Instead of doing one or the other, they were trying to conceive. The last test had consisted of his son's balls being cut open and then examined—while he was awake! Finding out about that being done to him had scared him something awful and, in truth, he hadn't spoken about it since its operating day.

"Okay, I'll let you off the hook." RaalVile said. He then turned his attention to his second oldest son, who was now dealing with trying to keep Duru still. "You can put him down, Shaam. He's not going to hurt anything."

Duru was released. He ran over then started making the globe move. With the door to the room being closed, the toddler was stuck. If anything was "hurt", RaalVile was sure that he could fix it—he knew a lot spells that fixed any old, broken item up to looking like it was new.

"What's up, Shaam? It's not like you to not pick up the phone." RaalVile said after Duru went off to play with the globe.

"A lot!" ShaamVile replied.

And wasn't that the truth! After the disastrous outing at the park, he came upon one tedious deed after another.

It took a full day of hashing it out with the authorities before anything could be done with the Shaar's. As expected, Amjufaria was only warned by the cops for her offense of putting a curse on him and his son. Lorboriann had tried to pin his busted nose on him; he was quick to denounce it. Since Duru was, in a sense, a baby, he couldn't be held liable for his action in assaulting him.

Other than looking after his son, he also had to deal with the issues that suddenly sprang up on one of the planets that were in the Terpsichore Galaxy. A bunch of riots had started up; he was required to leave both home and his son to dispel them. It took two days and a night to down the riots, and then track the ones who were among them down; after that was done, he set a new set of laws down then rigged up a curfew on the planet where they happened on. He wasn't allowed to look into the "butler situation" until three days after they were downed.

It took him three days to find who it was that couldn't keep his trap shut, or business that happened under his roof under his roof. In the end, he decided to nix three men and two women—it was no surprise of his to find that they had issues with how things worked under his roof. Two of the men had an issue with their pay while another had plain not liked the hours that he agreed to work. The two women were fired as a precaution—he seemed to find them at every corner, or in his near-immediate proximity, every day; as they say, it's better to be safe than sorry.

More than enough paperwork, and phone calls, took place in the three days that followed then he decided to just unhook the house's phone lines. Three days of peace, quiet, and time spent with his son were experienced. While his son was good during the twelve days that he was busy, he was extra vengeful during the three that he was free.

Least he got in a few good night's worth of sleep during them twelve busy days. He had definitely not been allowed to sleep well the last three days. While tired, he was trying his best to stay peppy, and think on the positive side of things.

He relayed all of this then turned after hearing the sound of wood being knocked on. Duru had since moved away from the globe; he was now at the section of his grandfather's office where the books were. Duru was "playing" with the sliding ladder by swinging it back and forth on its track.

"Think I heard about what happened on Ariadne. You did well with what happened there." RaalVile said. "Now, to the event that happened at the park—why didn't you call Malakay or I about it? And, for the record, why didn't you call one of us to come get Duru when you was on Ariadne? Who took care of Duru during your absence?"

"Had no choice but to put the maids in charge of him—"

"Bullshit. You could of put Malakay and I in charge of him. You could of dropped him off h—"

"By the time word reached me on the riots, I needed to act fast. They were getting rough—my immediate presence was needed."

"I don't much like my young dropping from the communicative grid, Shaam. While Zaal has a decent excuse for his elusiveness, you have a half-decent one." RaalVile said. "You could of—"

"I handled the situation the best I was able to at the time, Papa." ShaamVile's frustration was quite evident in his voice.

"Which was half-sloppy." RaalVile said in an equally frustrated voice.

"You try working on two to four hours worth of sleep." ShaamVile came back.

"I have," RaalVile stood from his chair then walked around his desk. He scooped Duru up then carried him around the room. "I have, but I haven't succumbed to the stresses that they've put on me, Shaam. Have you forgotten that I've had six young—three sons, and daughters?"

"No,"

"Just because I had a partner to assist in the raising of my young doesn't mean that I wasn't involved in the daily care of you or your siblings when you were this—" RaalVile pointed at Duru. "—age. You remember that, now."

If not for their always being a rather close-knit family, both he and his brother would of wondered if something was amiss with the man, who was now making a return to "teaching" Duru about the galaxy's present planets, and moons.

RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit had always been a man big on family, and he always made a point to keep things with his relatives steady. The only time that he "dropped from the communicative grid" was when he was super busy with his conquered realms, or needed some "alone time". Their father had taught them very early on that family was everything, and that it was best for everyone to stay close and in contact with one another; if a solid alibi was around for a break in communication, he understood the reason for the elusiveness. If an alibi wasn't around, he either called up a meeting or showed up on the offending person's doorstep to see what's up.

He wondered how the man was faring with his brother. Trobrencus was still working on his "underground bunker"; the thing, from what he was told, had a concrete floor and sides now. His uncle was now working on making it an air-tight, steel top. Again, Bahne didn't know the reason behind the bunker. He felt poorly for not being able to take on her invite but, as it was, with his uncle being so "busy" with his project, and Duru being a handful, and the sudden emergency that he was required to take care of on Ariadne, he was just not able to swing over to pay her and her family a visit.

Maybe next week... if he ever got his uncle on the phone, and spoke with him on it, that was. One don't show up at another's place until both parties that live in it knew of that impending visitation.

"Hey..." ShaamVile jumped after being tapped on the arm. When he turned to his left, he saw that his brother was holding a gold and silver flask, that had a space storm etched on its side, out to him. He took it, uncapped it, then debated on taking a swallow of what it contained.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Bourbon, with a touch of brandy for an extra kick." ZaalVile replied.

"Bit early to get drunk." ShaamVile said.

"Didn't say to down the whole thing," ZaalVile replied. "Take a swig or two—it'll give you some energy, and make you forget how little sleep you've had."

"Hmmm, thanks." two swallows went down his throat. He capped the flask then gave it back to his brother, who pocketed it before their father returned to his desk.

"This fella will be saying more than one word by the year's end, Shaam." RaalVile said as he sat behind his desk. Duru was still with him; he looked at his father, then at the desk, then started to use its blotter as a sort of drum. "Maybe time for you to start his primary lessons—just from seeing how interested he was in my globe, I think history should be his starting area."

"Hasn't even started talking in full sentences and he wants you to start throwing the books at him." ZaalVile knocked his elbow into ShaamVile's arm.

He and his siblings were given a most impressive, home-based education by their father when they were kids. At around the four hundred year range, their lessons began; their father started them off slow. They learned their ABC's, how to read and write, and do basic math, first. At the five hundred year range, they started their power training; he was a prodigy, while his siblings required some "time" to mature in using their powers. He and his brothers were also trained on how to use a sword—just before they went to their first, non-home based education, they picked one up then started the process of learning the basics on how to use it. They were also given lessons on how to handle a horse; their father had taught them all of what he was taught... but he was a lot less harsh with them when he gave them. While he yelled at them for their stupid actions, he never beat or made them feel belittled.

He and his siblings were sent to Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic—a two hundred year educational facility, where they learned the basics on how to do spells, and brew potions, among other things—, then they were sent to different educations. The Dark Academy was his next education, then The Academy of Dark Arts had followed. The ever-challenging, Semil's Military Academy was the next educational facility that he was sent to. The Dark School of Evil was his final education.

Zaal was sent to The Academy of Sorcery after graduating from Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic. The Academy of Evil had followed suit, then he went to Smorg's School of Business—which he was a pupil at for five hundred years. Riki was sent to The Academy of Alchemy right after leaving Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic; Vernolis School of Military was his next calling. Goboshu's Academy of Meanness was his final education.

His sisters were sent to two other educational facilities before their father deemed them done with their schooling. Since he and his brothers were of the male gender, they were required to go to more than three schools. They had needed all of them educations if they were to follow in their father's footsteps in becoming a conqueror.

"Not so, Zaal." RaalVile said. "While these years for Duru are best to be spent learning, and getting a basic understanding of the realm from which he lives in, it's also best for him to get ready for when the time comes for his studies to start."

"He showing his powers yet?" ZaalVile asked.

"Not that I know of." ShaamVile replied.

"Really, Zaal, that's a dumb question to ask." RaalVile said. "You know it'll be a while before he starts to show his powers."

"Just asking—knowing how his father is with his powers, another prodigy may be in the family." ZaalVile pointed out.

"I doth think my Brother is jealous of me, and my powers." ShaamVile teased.

It was commonly said, and thought, that the firstborn of a pair was less viable, or healthy, than the secondborn. While this seemed to be true with him and his two brothers, it was easy to over-look with his two, older sons. One would have to either know them real well or be up close to notice that one was bigger, stronger, and healthier than the other.

Zaal, while a Big Boy, and rather healthy in all attributes except that fertility thing, came nowhere near Shaam. His oldest son had come out looking like him—the left side of his head, and body, was a dark red color, while the right was a dark orange color. He had right long, and sharp, dark orange fingernails on the ends of each of his fingers. His eyes were a solid white color, and glowed rather brilliantly. His horns, though dark brown in color, resembled his. Them elf-like ears of his had come from him. Zaal was less muscled than Shaam, and was, at least, three inches shorter. Unlike Shaam, who ruled many galaxies, Zaal had just three under his belt. The infertile thing had really taken a lot out of his son's interest in galactic conquests.

Zaal, while being able to do Elemental powers, wasn't as in-tune with them. He was a frequent user of his Energy powers—which he claimed to prefer over the others he had.

His oldest son was wearing a brown and gold, checkered tuxedo and brown formal shoes.

"Bahne's giving me the impression that she's lonely." ZaalVile said, breaking the silence that fell between them. "Over the last few months, whenever I call to chat, she gives me an invite to come over."

"Did the same with me when we spoke last with one another." ShaamVile said.

"Rosol and I have also noticed that—it's getting quite evident that she's feeling neglected." RaalVile said. "My brother and I were talking on this obsession that Trob has with that bunker—if, in two weeks, this nonsense continues, we're heading over to see what's up, and if we can talk some sense into him. With Bahne being pregnant, she doesn't need to be neglected, or abandoned."

"And if nothing comes out of your conversation with him?" ShaamVile asked. "Bahne's too good of a Lass to be abandoned, or neglected. Unless the purpose of that bunker is a good one, it can be put off until after the babies are born."

"I'd like for one of you to accompany me and Rosol to Trobrencus's place," RaalVile said.

"If thing's look good on my end, I'd love to be of assistance." ZaalVile offered.

"Same," ShaamVile said.

"Good. Glad to know that I can count on the both of you to assist me in this matter."

RaalVile leaned back in his chair. Duru looked up at him, then started trying to wrestle himself free. RaalVile bounced his grandson on his knee then, when he continued to act fussy, placed him down. ShaamVile and ZaalVile stood from their chairs; Duru was collected, then the three of them left the room. They were nearly to the stairs when ZaalVile grabbed his brother by the arm.

"While you're a lucky man to have three kids, you need to be mindful. I've been getting a sort of feeling as of late. The air around my place seems to of gotten heavier, and Suha, as of late, has been coughing." his brother said.

"How bad is the cough?" ShaamVile asked. "Is it consistent, or—"

"On and off." ZaalVile replied. "I, myself, woke up this morning with a right bad headache. Had to fight myself to get up from bed. It went away about an hour later and, so far, it's stayed away."

"Maybe something you two've picked up at the hospital?" ShaamVile speculated.

"Possibly. We're keeping an eye on things so, if I'm not able to go to Trob's place with the old man, do me a favor in going in my place." ZaalVile started down the stairs, stopped, then turned around. "Mention none of this conversation to the old man, Shaam. It's probably nothing... probably something we picked up at Madreler. Let's not freak the old man, or Malakay, out, okay?"

"Gotcha." ShaamVile said.

He carried Duru down the stairs then out of the house. The front, passenger door of his car was opened, then Duru was put in his car seat. After doing this, ShaamVile ran over to the car's other side; to him, this was standard procedure and nothing in or out of the ordinary was happening. He never thought about what his brother just told him—if he had, he would of grown concerned right then and there about the impending chaos that was to start happening in the next few months.


	6. Chapter 6

The week following his father's meeting was what caused him to forget about what was said on the stairs.

It really all started on the day of his father's meeting. After coming home on the twenty-secondth, he found himself up to his elbows in issues that needed his immediate attention. The first regarded the staff, while the rest were on his son. On the day of his father's meeting, he walked in on a mini-uprising—some of his staff didn't like the idea of his firing their co-workers, while others were running their mouths on how they thought he was being selfish and paranoid. At the end of the day, he released the contracts of some seven men and women who decided to go against his say. The rest of his staff were given a warning—if so much as a disapproval was noted, or he heard of anyone speaking of how much they thought he was being selfish or paranoid, they'd be relieved of their contracts.

The following day, he decided to go on and try the ice cube thing with Duru. He did his best to chisel one down to his specifications, then gave it to his son. Duru, while doing as desired with it, had chewed on it for only two minutes before deciding it would make a wonderful "toy" to play with. He came close to breaking his neck after stepping on it—along with getting out of his high chair, Duru was on the floor and sliding it back and forth. Of course, he didn't know this—at the time, he was at the stove and making lunch. If not for a quick correction of his balance, he would of fallen and the back of his head would of met against the edge of the nearby counter.

On the next day, he had another scare. That escape artist thing was getting annoying and, like with his son's teething issues, he was having a time with it. He started to experience this habit of his son's a little under twenty years ago; his worry over it had grown steadily over the last five years, and it just so happened to come true on that day—his son, who he only just put in his high chair, had managed to undo the straps that kept him to it. With his not knowing that he escaped the thing that he put him in, he stepped back then right on his hand.

There was no contest between the heel of a man and the hand of a toddler. Duru had about screamed himself hoarse, and he came close to having a heart attack. His son's hand had swelled to twice its size almost immediately after it was stepped on, while two of its fingers were automatically broken. A quick healing session with the sub-ability of his Elemental Water power was done. No breakfast was eaten on that morning; they were too freaked to eat a thing.

It rained a lot on the two days that followed. Duru was forced to stay inside; when it was nice out, he either took him to one of the house's exterior gardens or let him ride the small horse he owned. On them days, he couldn't do that. Instead of doing these things, he and his son donned their swim trunks then took a dip in the pool. During the dressing stage of both of them days, he forgot to put the swim diaper on his son—with this being done, his son had nothing to contain the poo in after he went Number Two. When he noticed the bowel movement going down his legs, he fished him from the water then ran to the bathroom; while this was easy, the rest wasn't. After setting his son down, he turned to get the water running; his son, being the young fellow that he was, turned then tried to leave the room—in the process, he slipped then fell to the floor.

All of what was in his son's trunks went spoof around the room... and on him. After the initial slip, he turned then went to collect him. Duru, instead of staying where he was, got up for another try. The same thing happened after he took two steps from where he was. In the end, both of them needed a bath. It took a maid hours to get the bathroom cleaned.

He was quite busy in either chasing, keeping up with, or disciplining his son on the two days that followed. He was also trying to not fall flat on his face on them days; again, sleep was a luxury—only when Duru allowed him did he sleep. Duru had managed to "sneak" his cellular from his pocket that morning; even after calling the number, he couldn't find it and, naturally, Duru wasn't letting him in on where it was—other than the daily use of Pubba, he couldn't talk.

A phone call from the older of his daughters was received twenty minutes after his phone was snatched. She only wanted to tell him about her planning to come over for a visit. His other daughter, as expected, called soon after to also warn him of her impending visit. He did his best after their calls came in to ensure that his residence was ready for them—no one wanted to come over knowing that the place was a wreck on the inside, after all. Duru was playpen-bound for two hours; he was getting his exact revenge on him for penning him up.

His son's play-room was a wreck. He came in to find Duru drawing on the wall. The Lad also managed to slip his diaper from himself—the thing that happened three weeks ago was repeated. By the time he went to answer the door after its bell was rung, he had a toddler playing "hitch-hike" on his leg—any and all attempt to get Duru to release him had proved fruitless. Duru was intent on wanting to play the old game of "Ride Papa's Leg". After the bell was rung for the secondth time, he decided to go and answer the door while still having his son wrapped around his limb.

"Daddy!" his oldest daughter exclaimed after he opened the door.

"Well now, should I start running?" ShaamVile said after letting his daughters into the house. "I've got three for three in my house."

"Yes," his youngest daughter said. "We're hear to steal your wallet."

"And our brother." EbaishaVile Etalett Surfeit added.

"Oh, well then..." he glanced down. Duru, while still wrapped around his leg, was looking from one of his sisters to the other. It looked like he was trying to figure out who they were, and if they were a threat to him. "Leave the wallet. Take the Lad." his smile was wide, and joke-like. "Just have him back before suppertime."

"My gosh! You'd really let us?" EblouissieVile Axodaa Surfeit acted like she was about to play Brother Snatch; he doubted if she'd get the Lad from around his leg, or away from him. While he loved his daughters, he wouldn't let them run off with Duru. They were young, and very inexperienced in child-rearing.

"No," he laughed, then held his leg up. "Don't think he'd allow it either."

Duru, sensing trouble, or possibly the removal of being in his presence, released his leg then hid behind him. He peeked at the two women; his eyes, large and inquisitive, danced from one to the other before turning to look at him. Even though Ebaisha and Eblouissie, as they were called by their friends and family, didn't live under his roof, they were infrequent visitors of his. He and Duru saw them maybe once every two to three weeks; he spoke with them on the phone almost every day so that, in a sense, made up for the lack of personally seeing them.

The event that happened at the park had put a minor scar to Duru's curiosity, and "toddler independence". Now, whenever anyone—maid, butler, or otherwise—came around him, he either ran for him or started crying and acting like they were a threat. For the last three weeks, he was cursing the Shaar's for their brash move in showing up to see his son without asking him first. He hoped that it was just a phase, and that his son would snap out of it.

"My gosh! He's gotten so big!" EbaishaVile exclaimed as she bent down. She held her hand out, then snatched it back quickly; Duru had flashed his fist at her.

"Still a mean turd." EblouissieVile observed.

"After what happened at the park, its taking him a while to settle down." ShaamVile said. He turned, picked his son up, then faced his daughters. "His maternal grandparents showed up without notice. Lorboriann struck him after he started crying."

"For crying?" one of EbaishaVile's brows rose. "Duru's got a right to cry, dad. Doesn't he know that?"

"For Lorboriann, and his wife, no. For them, a child's suppose to be quiet, and obedient at all times. They also think that they're suppose to have a boring life."

"Where's the fun in boring?" EblouissieVile asked. She held her arms out. "May I?"

"Sure," he gave her his son then started leading them down the hall.

"My goodness! He's gotten so heavy!" EblouissieVile said after being allowed to hold her brother.

Define heavy, he thought. Duru was given his monthly check-up by his personal physician a few days ago. He was still worried about his weight; his physician had said that he weighed a "hefty" twenty-two pounds, which meant that Duru had gained a measly pound in a month's time. This, to him, wasn't good. From what the chart that he was shown said, a toddler usually slowed down, or stopped gaining weight, and growing, after reaching two hundred to two hundred and twenty years of age. A toddler, according to his physician, usually reached around half of their adult height at around that age. The size of a toddler's head, he was told, was about 90% of what it'd be when he, or she, reached adulthood.

It was mostly the change in appearance that was noted. A toddler of around Duru's age would start to trim down. The round belly would disappear, and the arms and legs would grow out—from increased activity, which caused the body to balance itself out.

He honestly hoped that the man was wrong. Duru was still at thirty-four-point-two inches, and now weighed twenty-two pounds. If the man was correct in what he told him, his son wouldn't only be a short man one day but he'd also be right skinny. Surfeit men were usually over the six-foot range. His grandfather was the only one that he knew of in the family who was of "modest" height—despite being only six feet tall, he was quite a menace on the conquering circuit. His grandfather was a feared man in his life; even though he was "modest" in height, he weighed around two hundred and twenty pounds—with not an ounce being fat.

He and his grandfather had gotten along okay. The man was a bit on the strict side with him from time to time but, for the most part, he was pleasant to be around. IackVile Uovo Surfeit was one to grab and then bounce him and his full-siblings on his leg. Right after coming over for a visit, or having himself, and his siblings, packed then taken on a ride to see him, he'd grab and then plop them on his knee. Olia, he remembered, was a bit freaked out by the man's facial scar, which made his face look to bear a permanent snarl on it, for a few hundred years before calming down; he and Zaal had noticed the scar, but they weren't spooked over it.

IackVile, and his wife, Dablonie Noshibol, had passed away after he and his full-siblings reached adulthood. They got some sort of sickness—the Spli Virus, as his physician called it. The two coffins, that his father and uncles picked out for them, were buried behind the castle a week and a half after the passing. Both were empty of a body; his grandparents had wanted their bodies burned after their passing and that, from what they were told, was done. Two empty coffins were buried, then a dual-tombstone—with his grandparents' names and information chiseled on it—was put on the grave.

"Take it that you didn't just decide to "drop by" without a good cause." ShaamVile said after leading his daughters to the living room.

"Nope," EblouissieVile smiled.

"Your grandfather said for me to be on the look-out with you two—who're the men, and when am I allowed the distinct honor of seeing and then giving them a good kick in the ass?"

"Good question—no one's placed any rings on any of our fingers." EbaishaVile faked a frown.

"Thought we'd come by and ask you for your opinion on something." EblouissieVile said.

"Need advice from the one who's responsible for your creation—good enough reason for a visit." he said.

"It's on that illness that's going on in the northern portion of our galaxy—" EbaishaVile started.

"—and why Uncle Trob's insisting on our packing up and then moving in with either he or you." EblouissieVile finished.

With their being of the female gender, they were in their right to express confusion and fear. He felt like calling his uncle then giving him an earful on scaring his Little Girls—the illness that was going on in the northern portion of the M-51 Galaxy was nothing to pop out in a rash about. While, yes, it was claiming lives, it was also only claiming the lives of folk who had compromised immune systems—people who were born on the sickly side, were already burdened by an illness, or were in their "old" years. His daughters were young and healthy, as was everyone else in their family. No one needed to start growing scared over something that he believed was harmless to folk who were healthy.

EbaishaVile Etalett Surfeit was his and his first wife's sixth but only surviving child. Despite having Nicolia's help in raising her, and having both parents in her life, she still came out as being his Little Girl.

With her bi-colored body, and elongated ears, she looked like a typical Surfeit. The left side of her head, and body, was light brown while her other side was tan. She had very feminine, and fragile, horns on her head; her ears, along with going the whole length of her shoulders, and being feminine in appearance, were dark yellow. The light yellow, Tiger-like stripes, that were on them, were quite faint. His oldest daughter's fingernails were long, finely manicured, and yellow in color. Her hair was a nice, chestnut-brown color, while the eyes that were in her pretty, heart-shaped face were a bright-glowing, blue color. The pupils, that were in their centers, were a milky yellow color. She was wearing a white shirt, that had lace sleeves and collar, under a bright yellow sundress—yellow was her favorite color, and she did her best to wear nothing but it. Even her heels were yellow, that's how much she liked the color.

The youngest of his daughters was raised differently than her sister. Her mother, Bikare Globoosie, had already shut herself off after having kid #5. When their daughter was born, Bikare wanted nothing to do with her. He was the only one to step up to the plate in raising and caring for her; Bikare and he remained a couple for two hundred years before calling it quits.

While everyone was ecstatic over Ebaisha's birth, a big stir happened after Eblouissie's. Though a Family Man, his father was adamant on not having anything to do with his second surviving daughter. He insisted on him doing the same. The reason for this was quite simple—while Ebaisha came out looking like a Surfeit, Eblouissie didn't. His youngest daughter had come out with a swirl patterned, purple and green skin complexion that she still had to that day. She had solid white, non-glowing eyes and mid-grown, purple fingernails that, like her sister's, were manicured. The hair, that was on her head, was a streaked, green and white color.

His father had slapped a lot of cards on the table after her birth. He kept saying something around the area of Bikare running around on him, then he asked if they didn't go and do the carrying of another's child with which to call their own—be surrogate and then adopted parents, meaning. About two months after Eblouissie's birth, he went and got a paternity test done—just to shut the man up. The results had come back saying that there was no contest on his being her father; his father went pale in the face for all of five minutes before asking the question on how such a child could be produced from a family who produced either single or bi-colored offspring. They still didn't know the answer to that question.

EblouissieVile Axodaa Surfeit was wearing purple slacks, a light purple blouse—she had always loved this type of garment, and he had never been able to pull her away from wanting to wear it—, and dark blue, low-heel shoes.

EbaishaVile was twenty thousand, two hundred, and two, while EblouissieVile was ten thousand, three hundred, and twelve. Despite the difference in age, they were right close and, in fact, lived in apartments that sat directly across from one another.

In a way, he understood the reason behind his father's animosity towards Eblouissie—the man frowned on anyone having and then accepting a child that's paternity wasn't assured. Up to his second son's birth—which would happen way, way, way down the road, after he was brought back from Limbo, then set his sexual impulses on some gal on Earth by the name of Lisa Ann Wahlberg—, he would feel and act in the same way. After the paternity was proven, Eblouissie was accepted, and all talk on his and Bikare's acting as surrogate and adopted parents, or on Bikare's cheating on him, stopped.

"I'll be chewing Trobencus a new asshole after you two leave," ShaamVile said. "There's nothing to worry about. My uncle's obviously grown paranoid over what's going on in the northern part of our galaxy."

"He completed that bunker of his." EblouissieVile said. "He put in a bunch of calls to the single-living members of our family."

"He said that, if we wish to live, we need to pack up the essential items—like clothing, and any type of medicine that we take—then either move in with him or relatives that live in small structured housings." EbaishaVile said.

 _"While you're a lucky man to have three kids, you need to be mindful. I've been getting a sort of feeling as of late. The air around my place seems to of gotten heavier, and Suha, as of late, has been coughing."_ he suddenly remembered what his brother said to him a week ago. _"I, myself, woke up this morning with a right bad headache. Had to fight myself to get up from bed. It went away about an hour later and, so far, it's stayed away."_

A chill rolled down his spine. He shrugged it off, then addressed his daughters, who were waiting for him to settle their unease. Duru was abnormally quiet, and still; he was on his second oldest sister's lap.

"Nothing's going to happen." he said. He was a man who, when it was time to be a father, and the settler of his offspring's unease, didn't beat around the bush. His daughters, though adults, still counted on him to be their father; he, in a bunch of ways, felt honored to still have that chore. "Uncle Trob's wife just caught pregnant. The man just got cold feet after being told that he helped in the creation of twins. That's all."

"We heard about Bahne's pregnancy." EblouissieVile said. "Do you think she's carrying two girls, or boys, or—"

"—a boy and girl?" EbaishaVile finished for her sister.

"Haven't a clue. I haven't heard from them—or, excuse me, Bahne—in a week now. An ultrasound should of been done; they should know the genders of the babies now." he answered the two of them at the same time.

"That's odd—he and you are close, yet he hasn't called, or told you what he told us?" EbaishaVile asked.

"No."

"Yeah—like daddy said, he must of gotten cold feet after hearing about Bahne's pregnancy, and that they're expecting twins." EblouissieVile said.

His daughters calmed down after their conversation was done. They stayed for about an hour and a half; along with playing with Duru, and asking him a bunch of questions, they helped him in getting the toddler-room fixed up to look halfway decent. They then left. If he knew of how bad it was getting in their galaxy's northern, and now fastly falling middle, sector, he would of told them to go home, pack up their things, then move in with him. Since he didn't know about the black cloud that was swiftly approaching Gamma Vile, he did nothing to prepare for it. He and his son went on with their lives.


	7. The First Victim

Normally, when someone pulled in front of him without right of way, he'd curse then lay hand on the horn. He never gave chase, or caused an accident to happen; he just did as he did while keeping a good head on his shoulders. Toddler in the car with him or no, he saw no reason to tarnish his driving record or look like a fool. Since the situation was what it was, and he knew who it was that pulled in front of him, he didn't break a sweat or do as he usually did.

The vehicle before him was a Bucciali TAV 8-32 Saoutchik. Along with being owned by the older of his uncles, it had a V12 engine of 4.9 litres under the hood. Before the Bucciali was his father's car; he, and the men before him, were paying his uncle a visit—with Trobrencus calling family like mad for the last week, things had finally hit the fan with them. Instead of blindly calling people who were related to him, Trobrencus called the unmarried ones first before going on to the ones that were married. The message was the same for everyone who received a call from him—if you want to live, you need to pack up the essentials then move in with a relative who has a smaller residence or show up at my place.

His call was received that morning. Since he wasn't in the house, he couldn't answer it or ask the man any questions. The same went with getting on him for scaring his daughters. His uncle was hasty in giving the maid his message before hanging up. An hour after his call came in, his father called. His brother, for some reason, wasn't able to be reached so he, in a sense, had won the honor of joining him, and Rosol, in going to his uncle's place by default. In a way, he was glad to have the honor. He had a lot to say to the man. His scaring his daughters, creating all this confusion, and abandoning Bahne during the early part of her pregnancy were the main points that he wanted to discuss with him.

"I wasn't available to speak with him, so I asked Malakay to do it for me." his father said after he answered the phone, then heard what he did. "He scared her something fierce, Shaam! Wouldn't tell her a thing... wouldn't say why he was calling, or why we needed to pack up then move in with Nihir. He just said that he already started the process of nixing his staff then hung up."

"He called my daughters a week ago. They came over with their skirts all up in a bind thanks to him." he relayed.

"He's calling everyone, Shaam! Did he call you?"

"Yes—about an hour ago."

"Let me guess, the same old message was said—that, if you and Duru want to live, you'd better pack up then move in with either a relative who has a smaller abode or him?" his father asked.

"You're correct."

"Rosol and I are going over at noon, Shaam. Since I can't reach Zaal—been over a week since we last spoke; I'll deal with him later—I want you to join us. It's time that whatever's causing my brother's mind to slip to be addressed, and then fixed."

A quick swing-over to his father's place occurred, then Duru was dropped off before he followed his father out the driveway. An hour drive was done before they reached Rohyan road, which ran into the one that his uncle's place was on. He had just reached the turn-off when Rosol pulled in front of him; following the near-collision, he put five feet between his Delahey and his uncle's Bucciali—no accidents needed to happen between them on this day. Along with being on Xroylo road, they were fifteen to twenty minutes from Trobrencus's place, which was where his father, and his siblings, were born and and raised in. Of his father's siblings, only one came from one woman—Nihir, who stemmed from Zeywe Feroboli. While Rosol and Trobrencus had the same mother, they also had a sister—Retne, who died after being born. His father and his two sisters came from Dablonie Noshibol, who was his grandfather's third and last wife.

The two-tone, light and dark green sky had since changed to a gray color. There were dark green clouds floating in it; no rain was forecast for the Voohkoor District, which was what they entered some two hours ago, so this was abnormal. The high, smooth, and glass-like mountains, that were in front of him, were so distant that he could barely see them. Pebble-like hills were to his right, while rolling fields of poisonous purple and normal green grass were to his left and behind him.

The Voohkoor District was an old district on his planet of birth. Over fifty thousand years old, but relatively unchanged since its creation. Oh, there was a town, and city, nearby, but most of the land was left as-is after its creation. His grandfather had set his sights on it after noticing how peaceful, and remote, it was. Perfect place to raise a family, and for a conqueror to rest during his non-conquering days, was what the man said after moving to it. The castle that they were driving towards was old, but very well kept—about half of it was renovated after it was willed over to his uncle. Originally, it was to go to his oldest uncle upon his father's passing but, something happened between them, which caused the will to be changed. The younger of his uncles got it by default instead.

It was a while before the fence was seen. Along with being black, it was wrought iron; each section had a Fluer-De-Lis topper to it that had a sharp, middle point on it. The grass beyond the fence was green—long before his uncle got the place, all of its poisonous, purple grasses were eradicated and then replaced with artificial terrain. A white-board fence was seen a few minutes later; his uncle owned, bred, trained, and rode a lot of horses—the red barn, from which they were housed in, could now be seen. The barn's doors were closed, which he thought was odd. Beside the barn was a gray grain silo.

They were just driving by the first of the property's two lakes when he noticed something that caused him to lift his foot from the gas pedal. The lake was empty of its flock of Green Plumer Ducks—Bahne was given twenty of them on her wedding day as a present; they were given free roam of the property, yet none could be seen. They usually stayed in the area where the lakes were. The absence of the ducks unnerved him.

The castle loomed from almost out of nowhere a short while later. It was big, black, and had just one tower on it that had three spires. Of the spires, only two had something on them. In total, there were eight spires of various designs on the building. The residence had six chimneys, and over a hundred windows, on it. Vines and moss grew all along its base.

The gate that his father pulled up to was long and, like the fence, wrought iron. It had a T, B, and S on its sides. The gate's design was reminiscent of a spread-out tree forest. Like with the castle's base, moss and vines grew on it. The half-circle, that was before it, had a strip under it—his uncle had a device on him that told him when someone approached his gate; a beep would come from it, then the man would fish it out then see who it was that was waiting to be let in. If the visitor was appropriate, he'd let them in and, if they weren't... well, they'd be sitting and getting stiff before deciding to turn and then drive away. Rosol and he drove up behind his father; it was a near five minute wait before the gate was opened, and they were allowed passage.

His father's burgundy, two-door, Cadillac Model 355-A Convertible Coupe; his uncle's Bucciali; and his dark red, Delahaye 135M Cabriolet drove past the gate then down the driveway. It took five minutes before they reached the circle that had yellow rocks in it. Yellow and black flowers bobbed all around the circle; some looked to of died some time ago, which was surprising. If the claim of his uncle nixing his staff was true, then them flowers would mean that nothing of protocol had happened in the residence for a while. His uncle was a hard, strict man with his staff; they never missed a beat, or dawdled in the care of his house. They parked in the circle then got out of their vehicles; it was Rosol who noticed the activity that was going on to their left.

"Hey!" the man yelled, then started running towards an area where four people were standing.

They ran off in pursuit of his uncle, who leaped over the flowers, then splashed down the creek that ran down the property's front—a concrete drench was built under the driveway some seventy thousand years ago; the creek ran through it. The creek was created by one of his grandfather's handymen; it ran from the lake that was to the far left of the property's front lawn, then to the other one. Another creek ran from the second lake, then went into the mini-forest, which was to the east of the castle. A structure of red and gray bricks sat between the castle and forest; usually, whenever he came over for a visit, his uncle's hunting canines would be making their noise. He heard no barking, or baying, coming from the kennels, which struck him as odd.

"You said Uncle Trob started the process of nixing his staff earlier," ShaamVile said as he and his father followed RosolVile. "Did he say anything on what he did with the ducks, and other animals on the property?"

"Your guess on where the animals are is as good as mine." RaalVile answered.

RosolVile reached the crowd that he took note of. Like with seeing them first, he was already talking with them. When he and his father reached the area where they were, they saw that Trobrencus was in a big hurry.

Italian Cypress, Weeping Willows, pink-flowering, Crepe Murtle trees, and white and pink-flowering, Dogwood trees surrounded the area where they were. He was surprised that his uncle was able to see much of anything, since the foliage was so thick. There were a few wooden and concrete benches under the trees; a croquet game was all by its lonesome by one of them. Once he entered the area, he was struck dumb by the sight of the door that looked to come out of the ground.

It was heavy, and made of steel, and it had a round, antique bronze door knocker on it. He took note of Bahne, who had a suitcase, and two heavy bags, on her, and then her daughters, who had a similar assortment of stuff on them, then he turned to look at the man who he, his oldest uncle, and his father came to see.

"I don't have time for this, Rosol. If you came to join me and mine, then I suggest you grab your stuff then rush over. The door will be closed, and then latched from the inside, in less than ten minutes." TrobrencusVile was saying. His uncle turned to look at him. "Shaam, where's Ebaisha, Eblouissie, and Duru? Rosol—" TrobrencusVile turned to look at his older brother. "—where's Axzah, Heviha, and Vataka? Raal—" TrobrencusVile looked at his younger brother. "—where's Malakay, Olia, Paegslar, and their newborn, Varai, Corran, and their newborn, Vlala, and Riki?"

"Home. Where they belong." RaalVile answered before his brother could respond to the question presented to him.

"Same," RosolVile said.

"Duru's with Malakay. Ebaisha and Eblouissie are out and about, and acting as they should." ShaamVile announced.

"Why're you three here? You're not abandoning your families in a time like this, are y—"

RaalVile swung his fist at the same time that a crack of thunder was heard. The brother that he'd not see for a long stretch of thousands of years fell on his back after it collided with him. ShaamVile stood back as his father dealt with the man; he thought that, if any discipline was given, it was best to be given via immediate blood relation. He was Trobrencus's nephew, so he had no right to place wrong hand on him.

His uncles looked very different than his father. One would have to be told that they were related, they were that different from one another. Other than their bi-colored bodies, they didn't look like a Surfeit.

RosolVile Yilsivoor Surfeit stood six foot, two inches. He had a lean, but strong, body. His arms, he knew, were marvelously sculpted, and muscled, as was his chest and abs. His legs were deceiving—though looking thin, and low in muscle, they were strong and powerful. His left side was dark purple, while his right was navy blue; he had short, black hair that was quite messy. The medium-sized horns, that came out of his temples, were black, ringed, and sharp. His eyes were a solid, dark red color. The "bumps", that stuck out from the sides of his head, were his ears—he didn't have the typical, elongated ears of a Surfeit. There were a few patches of flesh on the sides of his face, and neck, that were either flaky or bruise-like in appearance. His fingernails were black, and short. He was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers, a white, button down, long sleeve shirt, and black formal shoes; while the man wasn't fond of wearing jewelry, he was wearing a rose gold, hammered wedding band on his ring finger.

TrobrencusVile Bloym Surfeit, on the other hand, was much more sturdily built. The left side of his head, and body, was a light blue color, while the right was a puss-like, creamy color. He lacked any ears—they were located more on the inside of his head than outside of it. The man's eyes had red irises in them, while their sclera and pupils were white. The red, trail-like markings, that were under his eyes, looked almost like blood, but he knew they weren't. The man sported several red, flaky patches of flesh on his face that were dropping; his lower lip drooped, and had a shredded appearance to it, while his nose was thin and pointy—with them patches of skin, and that droopy, shredded lip of his, he looked like he was attacked by a bunch of ravenous, or rabid, dogs. The man's fingernails were a dark cream color; they were also mid-long and filed enough to be sharp. His hair was dark purple and cut all nice and trim on the front and sides; in contrast, it was scruffy on the top, and long in the back. The long strand of hair, that came from the back of his head, was braided; along with running down to just about his collarbone, it lacked its usually placed bow.

This uncle of his was wearing a pair of red, formal pants, a white, button down, long sleeve shirt, and red formal shoes. He stood a good, six foot, four inches.

"Raal, seriously now. You know, or should by now, that it's not favorable to strike at one when there's young around." TrobrencusVile said in his usual low, weasel-like voice, that had a growl-like undertone to it.

"My deepest, heart-felt, apologies." RaalVile replied with a curt, little, bow. "But I don't like how my brother just referenced me as a Family Abandoner."

"Why are you here?" TrobrencusVile asked as he got to his feet. He turned to his wife and daughters, who were standing idly by. "Go into the shelter, you three. I'll follow soon.

"Why are you sending your family to a shelter?" RosolVile asked.

"Is there something wrong with the castle, or is something coming that we should but don't know about?" ShaamVile asked.

"Have any of you been paying any attention to the news?" TrobrencusVile asked. "About what's slowly creeping into the middle sector—where we are?"

"That damn illness again," ShaamVile rolled his eyes. "I've heard just about enough of it from my daughters—who, I may add, were thoroughly spooked by you last week. What's up with you? You don't go around, scaring other men's daughters, without a good, plausible, reason."

"And I have one." TrobrencusVile reached into the front, left pocket of his pants. He took out a bunch of newspaper articles then held them out. "That "illness" is no illness, Shaam. And it's not innocent, or only attacking people who lack immune systems to fight it."

RosolVile took the articles, then read them carefully and slowly, before holding them out to his brother, who did the same. ShaamVile came close to laughing when it was his turn to see them; as he saw it, they were written as a form of scare tactic—something to put unneeded fear in a person. He read the articles then gave them back to his uncle, who pocketed them.

"I'm aware of what's going on in the galaxy's northern sector, Trob." RosolVile said. "Medical professionals have declared it contained."

"Contained my ass!" TrobrencusVile exclaimed. "They said that two months ago, Ros. It's not contained; it's creeping slowly towards us..." TrobrencusVile went silent for a few seconds before looking at his younger brother. "I've got a feeling that it's already here. I placed a call to Zaal last night; while he didn't answer, his wife did. She didn't sound well."

"Our father seemed to be right with you," RosolVile said. "Always jumping when you shouldn't. Always nervous when things are fine."

"Better to be safe than sorry, Rosol. I'm taking no chances with this one; if I'm wrong, and it's nothing, you can all bust my chops, but, if I'm right..." TrobrencusVile trailed off. He looked at his property, then at his brothers and nephew. "If I'm right, I fear for our family. I started building this—" he pointed at the shelter. "—as a precaution. I hoped that it wouldn't be used. As of the last report that aired on the news, which came out at around the time that I called Zaal and Suha, I took particular interest in the sudden obituaries and news-call deaths. As of the last week, over ten thousand have died. No cause can be found. Over ten thousand people—two thousand on this planet alone—just died."

"People die all the time, Trob." RaalVile pointed out. "Can't keep up with the demands that their bodies put on them. Childbirth. Immune disorders. Immune system weaknesses caused by fights with other illnesses."

"You, and the people who run the news, are jumping at shadows." RosolVile said.

"So, is this conversation my answer? The answer to my fears? That my family is going to wait like sitting ducks then fall like dominoes after this thing settles over this planet?" TrobrencusVile had a sad look to his face.

"Go to your shelter. Have fun with wasting your and your family's time. Me and mine will remain in relative comfort up here." RosolVile turned then left the area.

"Raal..." TrobrencusVile gazed at his younger brother. "Don't do what he's about to. Don't let me come out of this thing—" TrobrencusVile pointed at the shelter. "—to find you and your family all deceased."

"You said something about Suha not sounding well. I haven't heard a thing from her, or Zaal, in a while; how "not well" did she sound?" RaalVile asked.

"Very hoarse in the throat. She complained about her head, and body, hurting her at every ten to fifteen second intervals. She also mentioned a protuberance of some kind to her neck, pits, and groin. She was coughing, too." TrobrencusVile replied.

"Have fun in your hole." RaalVile turned then left the area. He didn't go far before finding ShaamVile at his side.

While RosolVile and RaalVile got into their cars, then sped off, ShaamVile decided to check the castle. He went to the structure, figuring that it'd be locked; he was surprised when he found that it wasn't. He went in, then down the halls before going up the many flights of stairs. The animals were all in suspended animation... or stasis, as one who was trained in the ways of magic called it. He went to the kennels; all of his uncle's hunting dogs were also under stasis. When he went to the barn, he found that the same was done with the horses. The ducks, he discovered a few minutes later, were also in the barn, and under stasis. His uncle had obviously decided to let everyone in his staff go then put the animals in stasis before giving the order for his family to start packing.

His uncle and aunt's bedroom chamber, though appropriately clean and tidy, looked to of been hastily vacated. Danan and Dazass's bedroom chambers were the same way. Dressers, with some of the drawers still out or open, were seen; open closets, which lacked some of their usually kept clothing, stood rather coldly in each of the rooms that he checked.

After checking the residence, he left then went to his car. He pulled out of his uncle's driveway then went through the gate. The door to the shelter, that his relative built, and was safely inside with his family, was shut; he presumed that it was also latched. ShaamVile had only gone a little over a mile from his uncle's place when his cellular went off. He grabbed his phone, flipped the bottom down, then placed it by his ear; since he didn't check the screen, he didn't know who it was that called.

"Hello? Who's this?" he asked after answering the phone.

"Get to Zaal's place on the double!" his father, who sounded right concerned, demanded.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"The fuckin' door's locked, and no one's come to answer it even though I've knocked, and rung the bell, more than five times. There seems to be no activity here."

"On my way."

No activity was a far cry from what he was seeing. After Trobrencus didn't include Zaal and his wife in on what he was doing with that hole of his, then hearing that Suha was ill, he decided to teleport to their place then do a personal check-in on them. Upon arrival, he noticed that something was amiss. His son was a man who, much like his brother, kept his staff working and well-ordered. The red and pink roses, that ran along the long driveway, and in front of the spacious, three-level mansion, would be nicely tended, and looking as proud as ever. The roses, upon his arrival, were drooped over. Dead as can be. A quick examination had shown that they weren't tended for a little over a week, which was strange.

He expected for someone to answer the door after he knocked on it, then rang its bell. His son's staff were on a strict, once-ring system; the same went when the bell was rung. After the door wasn't answered on the first ring of the bell, he rung it again. And then again. And then again. On the fifth ring, he decided to start knocking. No answer. It was like the place was locked up, and the residents went away on vacation—which he knew wouldn't. His son and daughter-in-law would put in ample warning on their going on a vacation before leaving to go on it. The staff would still be working if they left home; Zaal and Suha would want their place to look presentable upon their return, not like it was forgotten or neglected.

Not only were the roses wilted but so were the tulips that ran along the walkway that ran around the property's western wall. The chickens that, one day, after the humans evolved to being more on the intelligent side, would be called the Barbu d'Uccle, were all missing from the property's back. His son had gotten an attraction to the low postured, full bearded birds as a young child; as an adult, he retained that attraction. The vividly colored flock of thirty was his son's pride and joy yet, when he went around to the back, he found them all gone. Their coop was full of eggs, but they weren't around it. Most concernedly was the fact that his son's dogs, which would be given the name of Afghan Hounds by the humans, were scratching at the back door. Ehohae, who was the older of the two, had come bounding over to him after seeing him. She was as scared as can be. The puppy, who's name was Toohe, was too scared to leave the porch.

Like with the chickens, Ehohae and Toohe were his son's pride and joy. He'd not have them left outside, or abandon them. Both of the dogs were thin—it was like they hadn't eaten anything in a while... He could see ribs and spine on both of them, which was concerning in itself. The dogs were put in his car, then he went back to seeing if someone would let him into the house.

If the dogs were left outside, and were in the shape that they were in, and if the chicken coop was untended, and the chickens were gone, what was going on inside? Where his son and daughter-in-law okay? What of their other pets? How did they look? After a few more minutes of doorbell ringing and door knocking, he grabbed his cellular. He placed a call to Shaam. His secondborn son arrived a little under ten seconds later. It was understandable on why his exit of his vehicle was so slow; the same went on why he gave the property a shocked look.

"W... Did they take off or something? This place looks to be abandoned!" ShaamVile exclaimed after taking the property in.

"That's what I'm hoping, Shaam." RaalVile replied. He pointed at the door, then stepped away. "The chickens are missing. Ehohae and Toohe were scratching at the back door, and look to be underweight. And I can't get anyone to answer the door."

"Anything coming from inside?" ShaamVile went to the heavy mahogany door. He placed his ear to it then listened. He got his answer a few seconds later; there did seem to be someone on the inside but, if he heard correctly, he or she didn't sound well.

"Shaam..."

"Stand back,"

If it was nothing, they'd sigh, then apologize and offer to pay off any damages that were made for their entrance to be made. If something was going on, they'd be glad for the door to be broken, and for the foyer to be sprinkled in wood shavings and bits and pieces of wood. ShaamVile slammed himself into the door four times before stepping back; he used a form of his Elemental Fire power to make it explode before going into the residence. His face bore the very look of terror after he went in; except for to his son, who would be a young teenager at the time of the question being asked, he'd never speak a word of what he saw.

He and his father took in the five maids that were lying in the hallway. Three were dead; blood, and a yellow, viscus-like fluid, was caked on their faces. It looked like the neck of one of them had burst; there was a good splash of blood on the wall behind the unlucky soul who's neck was burst. The other women looked to have a series of deep or real dark rashes on their necks and arms. One of the maids looked to be nearing death's door, while the other looked not that far behind her. She was coughing all matter of orange and red, viscus fluid and blood; the ends of her fingers were black; and it looked like she soiled herself during her time on the floor. She had deep, dark rashes and bruises to her arms and legs too, and there was a sort of protuberance to her neck that was a deep, black color.

He and his father took in the maids then shot down the hallway. They were careful to not touch any of the bodies, or let the two, still-living maids touch them. When they reached the violet-carpeted stairs, they wasted no time in going up them. More bodies—more maids, and a lot of butlers—met their eyes when they reached the house's second level. Most of the ones on the floor were dead; like the women downstairs, they had blood and a yellow, viscus-like fluid on their faces. ShaamVile was quick to note that each of the bodies had deep rashes and bruises on their arms and legs; he also took note of the fact that they had multiple protuberances on their necks and underarm areas.

There was blood, and a whole hell of a lot of it, on the floor and walls. It looked like the necks, or underarms, of a good many of the people on the hallway had burst at the same time.

They raced down the hallway while also jumping or weaving past the deceased, or the ones who were still clinging to life. When they reached the room that had a gold-plated, Z and S on its door, they wasted no time in going in. Once they saw what was in the room, they stopped then screamed words that fell on near-deaf ears. RaalVile flew past his son. He charged across the room's decorative, violet and silver colored, Indian-crafted rug then slid to a stop before the side of the bed that his oldest son was close to hanging off the side of. He righted his son then ripped his top half around.

"Don't just stand there, Shaam! Call the hospital! Get some help out here!" he shouted at his son.


	8. Chapter 8

Suha died a few hours before their arrival, while Zaal died shortly after reaching the hospital. Even though they were five minutes behind him in reaching the hospital, his father and he were at his side when he took his last breath. Despite the top-notch care given by the medical professionals at Madreler Hospital, his brother still died—the obituary, which went out the next day, said the following: ZaalVile Ejaw Surfeit, the oldest son born to Frahfrie Cloridona and RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit, and the older brother of five younger siblings, left the Universe at exactly 1:01 p.m. on the fifth of August of the recorded year 3,855,221,109,002. His father had been, and was still, inconsolerable. So was his mother, for that matter.

After getting himself together enough to talk to the one in charge of Zaal's care, his father asked for an autopsy to be done. While it took a while, they learned that he was sick for a while—along with having an abnormally high white blood cell count, Zaal's red blood cells were next to nothing. Before closing the books, then turning his brother's body over to his family, the coroner declared his death as being infection-related. Due to how grief-stricken they were, his parents didn't dispute the claim; the same went with him and his siblings.

After receiving their son's remains, his parents went to work in preparing them for burial. Along with being cleaned, then dressed in his best, Zaal had a synthetic ear-piece put in his ear—he tried to get his father to put the original piece on him, which he refused to do. After Zaal's body was ready for burial, a plot in the cemetery was picked out and then readied for him; his wife's body was prepared for burial at the same time then, as per custom, buried beside him.

When the investigation of his brother's property was completed, it was learned that his staff died between July 22 and August 5. Through individual autopsy of around half of the ones found in his brother's house, it was found that they had the same abnormality to their blood. He assumed that the rest had the same abnormality to them too. Despite heavy opposition by the cops, and his grief, his father took Zaal's dogs in. There was no explanation for the chickens to be missing—the authorities tried to pin the dogs as the cause of their being missing, which was absurd. With the way they looked, the dogs couldn't of eaten them... and there was no evidence to show that they were eaten either. Ehohae and Toohe were just as calm around any sort of bird as can be, so both he and his father knew that they weren't the ones behind the chickens being missing. The cats that Zaal and Suha had were found; none of them were harmed, or unwell. His father did the same with them in taking them home with him.

His brother's will was read a few months after his burial. Most of what he wanted to give out was given to its new beneficiaries; since Trobrencus couldn't be reached, the items that Zaal wanted him to have were placed with his brother. Though numb over his brother's passing, he was trying to live on. Duru seemed to of noticed the change in mood. A few days after Zaal's death, he found him gazing at a photograph of them; whether Duru knew of what happened, or was just missing his uncle, he didn't know. He tried to explain to him a few times that he'd never see his uncle again but, each time he went to tell him that his uncle was dead, he cracked.

The pain that he felt over his brother's death was increased when word reached him of what was going on with his sister's son. Little OfnavatVile Izuzicor Howyan, who was close to being two months old, and was the first son and child of VaraiVile Luvenda Surfeit and Corran Howyan, was rushed to the hospital on the fifth of September; he no more reached the hospital before being pronounced deceased. Even though the autopsy showed that he had the same type of abnormality to his blood that Zaal had, the doctors weren't sure of what claimed him. Ofnavat was prepared for burial, and then buried, shortly after the autopsy was done and the diagnosis of an infection was made.

It was around Ofnavat's passing that he decided to look into the situation that was going on in the galaxy's front-lying sector. As fate would have it, the doorbell was rung right when he took a seat to look over the material that his couriers found for him. The visitor was let in, then led to his office; when he entered the room, he was surprised to see that it was his oldest uncle.

"Hey," RosolVile said after coming in.

"Hey," ShaamVile returned.

"Wos! Wos!" DuruVile, who was in the room's center-placed playpen, sang.

"Hey, Lil' Man." RosolVile went over, picked Duru up, then walked over to where one of the room's office chairs were.

"Something up, Ros? You usually call before coming over." ShaamVile said after his uncle sat down.

"In a way, yes." after seeing his uncle's demeanor, he called in a maid. After the woman entered the room, he told her to take his son, which she did; once his son was out of the room, he stood then went to his uncle.

"Let it out, Rosol. A passing in any family is tough." ShaamVile said after sitting beside his uncle.

"I still grieve for Zaal, and, even though I've never seen him, Ofnavat, and now I have a new thing to grieve over." RosolVile's harsh, hoarse voice was very cracky and emotion-filled. "Axzah lost our womb-baby last night."

"Wha... She was near-due, right? How..."

It wasn't very hard to figure his uncle, and his wife, out. Along with being very taken with one another, they loved children and looked forward to adding them to their family. Unfortunately, the act of child-bearing wasn't easy for them—like Zaal and Suha, Rosol and Axzah had trouble in the sack.

Instead of doing as his brother and sister-in-law did in trying to get pregnant, Rosol and Axzah did things the old fashioned way. After forty thousand years of trying to get pregnant, they stopped then accepted that they weren't meant to be parents; ironically, two years after agreeing to stop trying to get pregnant, their daughter, HevihaVile Draza Surfeit, was born. After continued attempts to get pregnant again following the birth of their oldest child, they stopped then agreed to not pursue the matter anymore—like with Heviha, VatakaVile Klacksi Surfeit was conceived a few years later. The new baby was another surprise pregnancy for them, and was conceived after they agreed to stop trying to have more children; as funny as it sounded, it seemed that the key to their getting pregnant was the agreements to stop trying to have children.

SolaVile Akawagie Surfeit was the name that they chose for their new baby. They settled on it a few months ago, after the baby's gender was determined.

"Docs say it was the stress of Zaal's and Ofnavat's passing that caused her to lose our baby." RosolVile said. "Axzah was sound asleep one minute then she woke and started screaming. Sola was slipped from her right after she started screaming. No breath or motions of life were noted... even though she was kicking and moving around just fine a week ago."

"Take it easy," ShaamVile, who figured that his uncle came to his place to talk with one who had more than enough experience in this matter, said.

"I would if Axzah wasn't in the hospital." RosolVile said absently.

"Huh?" he gawked at his uncle. Had the man said what he thought he did? "Your wife's in the hospital?"

"I went to speak with Raal on the issue of our loss. Was just getting it out when my cellular went off. A nurse was on the other end; she said for me to get to the hospital and fast."

"And?"

"It's the most damn crammed hospital I've ever seen, Shaam! I've never seen Gordub so crammed with patients before. The docs hustled me to the room..."

"Uncle?"

"She doesn't look good, Shaam." RosolVile said shakily. "I fear for my wife. Even though I asked for the docs to do all they can for her, they didn't look like there was much hope for her. I... I don't know what I'll do if I lose Axzah, Shaam."

His office, which would be vacant of an occupant in a few short months, after he he moved to the residence that was willed to him, grew cold all of a sudden. His uncle, who was usually so tough, and strong, came close to breaking down after voicing his fear of losing his wife. He was treated to remembering how it was after Egla died—the emptiness that filled him after she left the body that she owned for nearly fourteen thousand years, and the despair that a spouse felt after loosing his partner, were the ones that he remembered most. Them two feelings were enough to drive any man insane, and he did come very close to succumbing to the stress of what he felt after Egla died. If not for Duru, he would of followed Egla to the grave. Death by broken heart; that would of been put on his tombstone.

He comforted his uncle, told him that it was alright, then offered to go check on his wife. His uncle, though claiming to of just come from the hospital, said that he'd be grateful if he did. As a way to lift him up some, he asked for Duru to be returned to the room. Duru was put in his uncle's care; with the two looking to be in good hands, he grabbed his car keys then went to the garage. He got in the car after he reached it then started it; once he left his garage, he drove a short distance before deciding to teleport—his uncle lived in the Buydzin District, which was a near-four hour drive, and four districts from the one that he lived in. After his teleportation was complete, he drove straight to Gordub Hospital. After a few minutes, he pulled into the sprawling parking lot; it was almost instantaneous that he stopped the car and then gawked at what he was seeing.

It looked like all of the ambulances were sent out. All sorts of people were being rushed inside, and all of them looked sick in various ways. After getting over his shock, then finding a parking space, he parked his car then got out; the memory of what he saw at his brother's place struck him after he did this.

The ones in the ambulances had protuberances to their underarms, necks, and upper, inner thighs. While some of the people were quiet, and still, others were coughing up a mixture of blood and fluid—which, to him, looked yellow and viscus-like in appearance. The building's employees were rushing to and fro both inside and outside of the building; while some of them were wearing the standard uniforms of their careers, others were wearing hazmat suits. After seeing this sight, then forcing himself to walk, he entered the building; the second he did, he was struck by the smell of death, despair, and hopelessness. The smell was so pungent that he came close to running from the building—if his uncle wasn't in such an emotional bind, he would of done that. After getting himself together, then going toward the nearest receptionist, he detected a new smell—he knew well the smell of burning and infected flesh, and this was what he was detecting.

While the lobby was empty of patrons, he could hear plenty of coughing and yelling. It seemed to echo around and surround him. After hearing these things, then shrugging the feeling that suddenly crept over him, he continued on his way. The one who was going toward was feverishly checking patients in; he hoped that she'd tell him what he needed to know, because, before leaving his house, he never thought about asking his uncle about the room that his wife was.

"Sir, can I help you?" the receptionist, a Goteian woman of modest appearance, asked after he reached her desk.

"Yes, I'm looking for a relative. Axzah Surfeit; maiden name of Lihyl." ShaamVile replied. "I don't know how long she's been here, but I was told that she's here."

"Hold on a sec, sir." the receptionist started using her keyboard. She seemed to be taking her sweet time; he was sure that she was adding new patient logs, and information that was known on the ones who were coming in, to the computer before going to look for what he wanted to know.

"I don't know what happened! When I came home, my son was on the floor! He was coughing up blood and... and..." the mother of a new patient was saying to a presiding doctor, who obviously had the nerve to separate her from her child. The mother broke down, then collapsed to the floor; he watched in stunned disbelief as she started to seize. The doctor screamed for a gurney right when the convulsions were seen.

After seeing what he did, he went to work in protecting himself, He had a kerchief on his person, which he promptly removed then placed over his mouth and nose. He didn't feel like getting any illnesses, or what seemed to be in the building. Once he was covered, he turned to look at the receptionist; he had no more done so before seeing that she looked haggard.

While her fur was dull, and limp, her eyes were glassy and hot. She seemed to be having jerking fits too, and a type of fluid was coming from one of his nostrils. He swallowed after seeing this, then asked if she could put in a hurry on finding the information that he wanted to know. After speaking to her, she jerked, then looked at him—she almost acted like she forgot that he was waiting for her to do something for him, or was only able to hear some of what he said to her, which was strange. Seeing as how she reacted to his question, he asked it again, but a little louder this time. Instead of giving him the same response, she gave him what he wanted to know—room 202, which was on the third level, was where Axzah was.

After receiving what he did, he was surprised. The receptionist, without cause or signal, collapsed from her chair. Though perturbed by her fall, and then by seeing that she was seizing, he yelled for a doctor. After waiting for someone to come to the receptionist's aid, then seeing that she was in good hands, he went for the stairs. After a few minutes of looking, time stopped after he found them; while he wasn't sure of how long he spent on the stairs, he knew that, when his ascent was complete, he was breathing hard. Once he was on the building's second level, he went down the hallway then started looking for the stairs that'd take to the next one—this was a quicker done task, as was the one that he did before finding them.

Seeing as what was going on in the building may be contagious, he stopped to remove the garter strings from around the legs of his knee-high, red pants. Once they were removed from where they were, he tied them together then applied them to his kerchief. With himself having a synthetic face mask on himself, he continued on. When he found the next flight of stairs, he didn't go up them; instead, he stopped to speak to the doctor that he came upon.

"Sir," he said. His voice came out muffled thanks to his kerchief. The doctor, a Lizaird, or lizard-like being, turned to look at him at once.

"Whatever you do, don't cough or sneeze on me!" the man exclaimed as he backed away.

"I'm not. I was wondering what's going on here. Why's everyone so sick?" he asked. He was slightly confused over the man's actions; here he was, as healthy as a horse, and with a mask over his face to boot, and yet the man yelled at and then told him to not sneeze or cough on him.

"What does it look like! We've been seeing the same thing for a week now! It's growing, and we don't know what it is, or how to help the ones who're coming in!" the doctor exclaimed.

Instead of ascending the stairs like a civil being would, he ran up them. He came close to tripping after reaching their top, then he did trip after going halfway down the hallway. By the time he reached room 202, he was wishing that he brought a gas mask—while his nose and mouth were masked, his eyes weren't. He was putting himself in danger of contracting whatever it was that was in the building. When he reached the room, he forced himself to calm down. Axzah, he told himself, was just admitted to the hospital after losing her baby. Her reason for being here was nothing to become concerned over—something happened after Sola was born, that's all. A torn muscle, or retained placenta, or mild infection that was caught in time, or a hemorrhage of some kind. That's all. Once he entered the room, he'd smile then heave a sigh of relief. He'd grab Axzah after seeing her as being fine then take her to a different hospital that wasn't dealing with some unknown illness.

He grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, then pushed the door in. When he went in, he was mildly surprised to find that Malakay, and his own mother, were in it.

"Shaam?" his mother said.

"Mammaw?" ShaamVile returned.

"Thought you was a doctor," his mother said. "With that kerchief around your face, you look like one."

"What're you doing here, Shaam?" Malakay asked.

"Rosol paid me a visit. He said something happened to his wife, and I said I was coming here to put him at ease. He's right upset." he replied while taking the kerchief from his face.

"With good reason, Shaam." Frahfrie Cloridona turned towards the room's bed. She said no more.

Like Malakay, his mother was a lovely woman. At one time in their long marriage, his parents were right taken with one another but, like many other marriages, that died like a light switch. While he liked to believe that it was just end-of-the-marriage woes, he had a feeling it wasn't—their divorce, for all he knew, could of happened after an affair was noticed, or one or the other started to accuse the other of something that neither of them did. Frahfrie Cloridona, like Malakay Dubalakee, was a nurse before meeting and then marrying his father; it seemed fitting that the two of them were tending to the care of his uncle's wife.

Frahfrie Cloridona was a native of the planet Cybele, which was one of the galaxy's northern-lying planets. She had shoulder-length, dark pink hair; orange, starburst eyes; and glass-like, light pink skin. She was the reason for why he came out having a half carmine pink side—his parents' colors had mixed to create a "less colorful" child. Olia had once said that he was born mis-appropriately gendered— _a male child would be less femininely colored than you; you need to go to the clerk that handles all the mixing and matching of one's offspring then put in a complaint_ , she said. His mother was wearing a blue nurse's outfit, while Malakay was wearing a similar, but near-white, outfit. While Malakay was five foot, six inches, his mother stood a right impressive, five foot, nine. The Cybeleians were noted for being tall; his mother held that quality well.

"I honestly think she should be removed from the hospital." ShaamVile said after the two women returned to tending his uncle's wife. "Not sure what's going on in the building, but it doesn't look, or sound, good."

"We asked for that to be done ten minutes ago. Health care professionals say that, until the situation is stabilized, and the surplus patients stop flowing in, all who are here must stay here." Malakay relayed.

"It's to stop contamination, and the possible spreading of whatever's causing this illness, Shaam." his mother said. "Mal and I have also been told that we can't leave until the situation's cleared."

"Guess that means I have to stay as well?" he speculated aloud.

"Correct," the women said.

"No one wants a pandemic, or epidemic, to happen, Shaam. It's best to keep things safe, and on lock-down, until things smooth out." Malakay said.

"Should I call Rosol, then tell him that he needs to come back to the hospital?" ShaamVile asked.

"No—think he's fine. Axzah was brought in before the surplus patients did, and he left just before things started getting a bit out of control." Frahfrie answered.

"What's wrong with Axzah?" he asked.

He was surprised by how well Axzah looked. Oh, she was a little pale in the face, and seemed to be having a few twitchy spells, but, for the most part, she looked good. Axzah had come from one of the planets that her husband conquered some sixty thousand years ago. She had teal-blue skin; along with having a series of gills on the sides of her neck, she had webbed fingers and toes. She had no nails on her whatsoever. Her hair, while thin, and dark blue in color, was quite lovely. Axzah Lihyl was half Amphilorian and Meleteian—the latter, of course, being a fully water-logged species while the other liked both the land and water. His uncle had taken such a liking to her after conquering Amphiloria that he asked her to both tag along with, and then marry, him; she must of been take with him too, because she had no trouble in doing either.

Axzah had a few IV's hooked to her wrists. There looked to be more than one bag of blue-purple blood—the type that her system ran on—being pumped into her.

"Doctors say that she had a hemorrhage after the baby was born." Malakay answered after opening, and then checking, one of Axzah's eyes.

"She was complaining of a pain in her abdomen before coming in. A mid-grade fever, and some chills, were noted before she decided to drive herself in." Frahfrie reported.

"All caused from her having a stillborn," Malakay sighed, then shook her head. "The cause for her having a stillborn is still unknown. They have the baby, Shaam. Rosol asked for an autopsy to be done."

"Rosol said that Sola was moving around like normal a week ago." ShaamVile said. "He also said that the doctors told him it was the stress from Zaal's, and then Ofnavat's, passing that caused her to lose her."

"Dr. Papicus said that the baby died a few days ago." Frahfrie said.

"The doctors just told him that to shut him up—he was very hysterical when he came in." Malakay said.

"I take it that his saying that the doctors had "hopeless" looks on their faces was caused by his hysteria over his wife losing their baby, and then being admitted to the hospital?" he asked.

"Axzah's fine, Shaam. Rosol just freaked out after half of the building's ambulances started rushing in with patients. He was told to leave when all the people in the ambulances were rushed in—with over fifty people being rushed in, I think even you would freak out." Frahfrie gave him a motherly smile, which he couldn't help but return.

The thought of the doctor, who demanded that he not sneeze or cough on him, and of the receptionist, who collapsed from her chair, and of the mother, who collapsed, then started to seize, just came to him when the lids that covered Axzah's almond-shaped, glass-like, dark purple eyes, that had slit-like, light purple pupils in their centers, shot up. Axzah's twitchy movements grew more extreme for a few seconds, then stopped completely; she jerked her body up after she stopped twitching, then made a gurgling sound. What happened next would haunt his dreams for the next few weeks.

Axzah turned to look at his mother, who was in the process of trying to get her to lie back on the bed, then opened her mouth. A thick, syrupy, viscus-like fluid shot out of her—after being brought back from Limbo, then hearing his great-great granddaughter speak in "grand" detail of the film The Exorcist, he'd be instantly reminded of this event. The fluid that came from Axzah's mouth splashed nearly everything in the room, and it came to rest on him, his mother, and Malakay too. The fluid started out as being clear, then changed to orange before going red. Axzah was much like a broken faucet; she continued to spew the fluid for a few minutes before falling to the bed. His mother and stepmother, though highly disturbed, and hysterical over what just happened, rushed to her side like any good nurse would. He did the only thing that he could think of—there was a chromium sink to the room's far right side; he went to it then started the process of cleaning himself up.

 _"Dr. Papicus!"_ his stepmother screamed. His back stiffened; he had never heard Malakay scream like that before! _"Dr. Papicus! Dr. Papicus! Dr.—"_

"Shit, not another one!" a Lizaird, who had scaly, blue-green skin, and prominent crests over his yellow-green eyes, rushed into the room. He figured that the man was the "Dr. Papicus" that Malakay was calling for.

Axzah had since stopped expelling her fluid. She was now flopping, and trying to roll off the bed. Her hands clutched at her throat; she wheezed a few times before a nurse ran in with a tube, which was promptly shoved down her throat and then connected to a machine that aided one in breathing. Things started escalating after the machine was hooked to his uncle's wife—Axzah coughed a few times, then managed to roll completely over. He was treated to seeing the flesh of her back when she did that—the sight of what he saw would be another thing that'd haunt his dreams for the next few weeks; he had never seen what he was seeing before in his life!

A deep, near-black rash had spread from Axzah's shoulders to her buttocks. A yellow fluid was oozing from its middle and sides. Axzah screamed in agony when Dr. Papicus went to examine this, apparently unknown, rash; he touched it with the end of his finger twice, then asked for the nurse to give him a scalpel, which was quickly retrieved and then given to him. The rash acted like a pimple after the scalpel was scraped across it; puss, and Axzah's blue-purple blood, seeped out out it right after it was scraped. The two who were looking after her scrambled to acquire a sample of what was coming from the area before going to work in trying to close it.

It seemed that every attempt that they made in trying to close off the rash caused it to break open more. Axzah was bellowing like a GamBoar now; while what the two were doing was essential to her health—it was either they try to close the area where she was bleeding from or she bleed to death—, they were causing her a lot of pain. They had just placed a long bandage over the rash when the tube that went to the breathing machine erupted. The thick, syrupy, viscus-like fluid, which was now black instead of red, shot out of its remaining end like a geyser. Axzah struggled under the restraints of his mother and stepmother for a few minutes before throwing them from her; she, with whatever strength she had in her, yanked the tube's remnants from her body then leaped from the bed.

"Axzah! Axzah!" Frahfrie pled. "Get back in bed, Axzah!"

His uncle's lovely wife, who birthed two daughters, and just twelve or so hours ago, had a stillborn baby girl, didn't do as she was told. She walked around the room in a daze. She looked around—her exotic, purple eyes had since turned to a murky, brown color—then she turned in his direction. He took two steps towards her then leaped back, after she screamed then threw her arm at him. His breath was knocked out of him at once after the black current of electricity struck him in the stomach, then he collapsed to the floor at the same time that she did.

Dr. Papicus, the nurse that came in to apply the tube that went to the machine, and his mother ran to Axzah's side at once after she was on the floor. While they worked on his uncle's wife, Malakay checked into him—with him gasping the way he was, she must of thought that something was wrong and that he needed her. The second she went to check into his vitals, he shook his head then pointed in Axzah's direction—with his just having the wind knocked out of him, he thought he was fine; it was his uncle's wife who he thought needed his stepmother's care more.

"You've got her husband's number, right?" Dr. Papicus, who had seen more than forty people die in the exact same manner that his current patient was in the last fifty minutes, asked the nurse, who was trying her best to push the mother of ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit back from the body that was on the floor.

"Yes, why?" the nurse, who had seen more than her fair share of disease and death in one day, answered.

"Make a call in five to ten minutes. Tell the man the news of what happened, and why he won't be allowed to come retrieve his wife's body until an autopsy is done." Dr. Papicus said.

"Doctor, you can't be serious? Clean her up, then put the tube back in her—my ex-husband's brother loves this woman to death... He'd be more than angry with you if you up and let her die." Frahfrie Cloridona, who didn't know what was going on, pled.

"I can't do anything to stop what's to happen, ma'am. I've had more than forty patients die in exactly this matter in less than an hour. The building's other doctors have experienced the same thing."

"You said it was only a hemorrhage... You never said she was sick, or—"

"My diagnosis of what she had when she came in stays the same. I don't know what happened, or caused her to get what everyone else has had." Dr. Papicus replied sharply.

Dr. Xaquiss Papicus, who, one day, would succumb to the plague that only just started on his planet of birth, placed the fingers of his right hand to the soft meat of his patient's neck. He had just opened his mouth to relay the news of his patient's passing when a scream was heard from down the hall. His fingers were pulled up the neck, towards the barely noticeable, black protuberance that was just below Axzah's jaw, after he heard what he did. The protuberance, once the fingers touched it, burst. Frahfrie Cloridona, who was in the direct line of fire, was instantly splashed with Axzah's blood; she screamed, then fell back to her rump, then started to scoot away from the body that once harbored the spiritual essence of her ex-husband's brother's wife. ShaamVile and Malakay stared in horror as the doctor and nurse backed away from the body of their relative; the only thing that they could do was watch as the protuberance emptied itself out. The long bandage, that was applied to Axzah's back, changed colors as the rash bled out.

"Uh, think I'm going to be sick!" the nurse raced out of the room. Dr. Xaquiss Papicus wrote the time and details of how his patient died to a piece of paper then followed her. ShaamVile, Malakay, and Frahfrie were left alone in the room; none of them said a thing on what they just witnessed.


	9. Chapter 9

Unlike the other plagues, or space-swept illnesses, that came in swiftly then left just as quickly, the one that the residents of the M-51 Galaxy were facing was slowly trickling in. Interestingly, it seemed to want to stay around for a while, and have an intelligence to itself—it'd claim around five to ten thousand in the span of a week before slowing down. It was only when the complete re-establishment of people's lives occurred when the next wave came in.

At first, the plague traveled by air then, after coming in contact with water, it evolved to being water transferable. Two weeks after Axzah Surfeit's passing, a call was made about a possible pandemic being experienced. The plague put a halt to its assault after the call was made; thanks to that, the unsuspecting medical professionals of Gamma Vile decided it was a fluke, then assured their people that all was fine. A prevalent infection was written to the certificates of the ones who died, and people went back to their lives.

ZaalVile Ejaw Surfeit, while being the second in the Surfeit family to succumb to the plague, was claimed by its fourth wave. While he was the only one to notice the change in the air that was in the area where he and his wife lived in, he wasn't smart enough to figure out why, or get himself, and his wife, out of the area before the following wave crept in. The second wave that came in did nothing to the two people; their systems were strong enough to prevent it from infecting them. Mr. Surfeit's visit to Madreler Hospital was the cause of his infection—a drink of water, that was contaminated by the now water-transferable strain of the plague, was the cause of his undoing. His intimate engagement with his wife the night following his trip to Madreler was the cause of her getting it. They were sitting ducks for the plague's fourth wave; with their bodies already fighting off the third wave, and their being in a weakened state, they were easy prey for the next one that came in.

The galaxy's avian life was highly susceptible to the slowly encroaching sickness that was wrapping itself around the galaxy. Thanks to this, they were the first to succumb to what was coming in. No reports were being given on the birds' sudden die-off; if one was given, the masses would of been alerted to the plague's existence. Since no reports were given, no one knew about the disease that was now in full-blast mode in the galaxy's front-lying sector, and nearing the same in the middle sector.

Ten assaults were made to Gamma Vile. ZaalVile Ejaw Surfeit and his wife, Suha Binet, were taken in the fourth wave while OfnavatVile Izuzicor Howyan was claimed in the sixth. Axzah Surfeit, née Lihyl, was claimed in the ninth wave. One more wave swept in before the plague put a halt to its assault. It was during that halt that Axzah Surfeit, and her stillborn daughter, were prepared for burial and then buried. RosolVile Yilsivoor Surfeit, and his two, surviving daughters, were there for the funeral. While looking strong on the outside, RosolVile's interior was very badly injured. His wife of nearly sixty-two thousand years was taken from him, as was the baby that they were looking forward to having; to RosolVile, this was one of the three worse events to of happened in his long existence.

"The first was the passing of my mother." RosolVile, who knew nothing of what was happening with his birth-galaxy, thought.

She died after giving birth to his and his brother's baby sister. Retne wasn't positioned right, which prevented her from being born in the traditional way. The physician who was changed with his mother's care had to cut her to get the baby out; seeing as, back then, people in that trade weren't trained to do this, it was highly recommended that they not do it... yet the man did. During the cutting, Retne's stomach was viciously attacked by the scalpel; their father knew right from the start that she wasn't going to make it. Most of her internal organs were cut, and she was bleeding quite profusely. Their mother died before Retne; both were buried in the old cemetery, which use to be behind the castle. After Raal acquired his property, then set a large lot of land to the side for a family cemetery, their bodies were exhumed and then moved to it. The old one was hard to get to, and was getting cramped; his brother's dedication to the family was big enough for all of the people who were in the cemetery, and it was still big enough to allow for the burial of the current-day members who passed away.

His mother and sister's passing was bad. He and Trobrencus had mourned their deaths, as had their father. He was right close to his mother; with having her in his life for six hundred years, he became a sort of mama's boy to her. After her passing, he felt like he did now. Where's mom? She's dead? Died in childbirth? She won't ever come home again? He, as was natural of a child who just lost the parent that he/she was close to, broke down in tears after the two's passing. He, at a right young age, had to learn about how to cope with that grief; even though his father was a bit of a rough man, he didn't get on him for his grief over their passing. It was no surprise to anyone that, over the years, he and his father had grown close. After his mother's passing, he became a sort of Dad's Warrior—even after Raal was born, he retained that bond.

"And then he, and his wife, died."

He was one thousand, two hundred, and ninety when his father married Dablonie Noshibol. Even though the woman wasn't directly related to him, he had grown close to her... but not as much as to his father, of course. When the two of them died, he felt that same empty feeling. His father, the next parent that he grew attached to, had left him. For the first time in his life, he felt fear over being alone. It took him twenty years to get over that feeling and, by that time, he met and then fell in love with his second wife—the marriage to his first wasn't long nor pleasant, which was why its divorce wasn't included in his list of lifetime bad events. He and Axzah got married soon after meeting one another, then started a life together.

"And now she's gone."

Axzah Lihyl, his wife of nearly sixty-two thousand years, was buried near the middle of the cemetery. A plot was made for him some time ago; he, like any good husband, had full intentions of being buried beside her.

The task of telling his daughters about the passing of their mother was especially hard on him. He contemplated getting drunk before doing so—a swig of rum, or a swallow or two of Absinthe; just to settle his nerves, and calm his hurting, inner body—, but he manned up. Heviha and Vataka were told; they did their grieving, then went on with their lives. He, on the other hand, was having a time in doing the same. With no wife to wake up beside, or say hello to, or mate or spend time with, he felt like his life had no meaning to it. Now he understood how his nephew felt after losing Egla. He was experiencing the same mental degradation that he went though when his fiancée died... and the sad part, he was letting it claim him. Unlike his nephew, who beat his issue, then went on to live his life, he was having trouble in doing simple, everyday tasks. The maids, as of the last three weeks, were tending to the care of his two, surviving young. For the most part, he did nothing but sit in his office, or lock himself in his and his forever gone wife's bedroom chamber, or lock himself in his house's bar, from the time the spheres rose to when they fell.

It was bound to happen. His daughter-appointed maids had grown concerned for him after his daughters started asking if he had grown tired of them. A call to the only above-ground brother of his, who was thirteen hundred years younger than he, was made; Raal rushed over, was let in, then was led to him. The only thing that he was able to do, after he entered his office, was twist his chair around; he was looking out the blue-rose stained glass window that sat directly behind his desk. His brother said nothing to him; he just walked around the desk then grabbed the back of his chair. He twisted him around to looking at him then did something that he expected he'd do.

The palm of his brother's hand caused a loud, resonant sound to be heard when it struck the side of his face. He, in response, flew from his chair. A hand to the back of his shirt was applied right after he landed on the floor; he was ripped up, then thrown to the black marble bookcase that stood to the left of his desk, soon after landing on the floor.

"You, of all people...!" RaalVile said after closing the distance between them then grabbing the front of his shirt. "Papi would be ashamed of you for what you've let yourself become! There's no cause for you to let yourself go in the way that you have, or for you—"

"There's plenty, Raal." RosolVile replied. His brother's left, red hand assaulted the right side of his face then drew back. He shook his head, then shot his arm out; the next slap was prevented.

"There's no cause, Rosol!" RaalVile exclaimed, then released him. "You see me going around, moping, and locking myself in rooms, and abandoning the remnants of my family, after Zaal and Suha died? Do you see me sinking in my own stew, Brother?"

"No,"

"I look up to you, Ros. You're the oldest brother I have. To hear that you've let yourself go in the direction that you have is shocking. To hear that you've abandoned your little girls is even more shocking." RaalVile preached. "While what happened in that hospital was a disaster, it doesn't mean that you can up and abandon others, or stop moving forward in your life."

The man that stood before him didn't look like his brother. He was shocked after hearing the maid's words, and wanted to see for himself if what she said was true. After being let in, then led to his brother, the maid's words were confirmed. Rosol looked like a shell of his former self. The man, who usually held himself together, and presented himself well, was no longer holding himself together and he was definitely not presentable.

The white muscle shirt and brown-tan formal shorts were things that he'd wear during his morning and mid-afternoon runs. He'd don them, and a pair of old, scuffed up, formal shoes, then go for his runs; after finishing them, he'd come home, shower, then don his usual clothes. The man went by a strict morning/mid-afternoon run routine and he had a strict policy in his home where the hired help kept everything neat and tidy—or else, they were fired. Upon entering the abode, he took note of how "untidy" it was. Dust in the corners. Tables with dust and/or smudges on their surfaces. Floors that desperately looked to need a washing or vacuuming. While being led to the stairs, which would take him to the house's other level, he poked his head into the kitchen—obviously, the ones who worked for his brother decided to forgo the washing of the dishes, and general care of that room.

His brother was a mess. His hair, which was usually short, was very unkept. In the three weeks that Axzah was under the ground, his brother's hair had grown. It made him look disgusting! His brother needed a shave—there was a dark brown and gray, bristly beard on the sides of his face, and chin. He had only to look at his brother to know that he wasn't sleeping much—there were dark circles under his eyes. All of this mixed in well with the heavy aroma of alcohol that he had on him. Rosol had let himself go down the drain; with Trobrencus still in his hole, and Nihir, Saroka, and Axtegae not being able to be reached, it was up to him to settle the score and set things right.

He shook his head at his brother then walked around the desk that sat in the room's far left corner. The room's desk and chair had once belonged to their father. IackVile Uovo Surfeit had once sat in one and worked behind the other. He once did paperwork, answered calls, and read over the mail while being behind that desk... The desk, and chair, were willed over to his brother after their father died; the same happened with the bronze, retro vintage rotary dial phone that was on the desk's upper left corner.

Their father, while not a "fancy" or "overly elegant" man, had retained that affluent status that was so well known in the family. The cuckoo clock, that sat to the left of the room's swing out doors, was yet another piece that his brother was willed over. The finely detailed, chocolate brown and bronze clock had all sorts of black birds on it; his brother had always been a fan of it, so it was only natural that their father wanted him to have it.

"Shaam only knows the basics behind the rift that happened between the two..." RaalVile thought.

While he didn't know the full story on what happened, he knew that it was caused after Rosol was caught "fooling around" with one of their cousins. His brother had always been one for the ladies, and had always been a sort of Casanova; all hell broke loose after their father found him and Aldiria "fooling around" in one of the upstairs bedrooms. A big fight happened, then Rosol, at two thousand, eight hundred, and eighty years of age, was cast out of the house. The old man said for him to take his "overly friendly carcass" somewhere else; Rosol did a little under twenty years of wandering from this town to the next before making the decision to go to the man who trained him to use his Electromagnetic powers.

While their relationship wasn't the best, the man still let him in after finding him standing on his doormat. Their grandfather listened to him tell the tale of what happened then he nodded his head; his brother was allowed to stay with him for a while. Rosol only left after he said it was time for him to make a name for himself. Rosol was disowned for all of six hundred years before being allowed back in the family; their father, who never liked inter-family relationships that revolved around or included sex, and who was apparently trying to get Rosol to drop his Casanova actions, had never forgiven him over the affair, which was why he wasn't given the castle.

After having his status in the family returned, Rosol worked his ass off to rekindle the relationship that he and their father had before the affair was discovered. While never, truly, the same, it did return.

"Shaam and I were talking before her loss," RosolVile said distantly. RaalVile noticed that he was looking out the blue-rose stained glass window; he was gearing up to slap him again when he moved past him. "I haven't heard a thing from Shaam since her burial."

"He, Malakay, and Frahfrie saw what happened. It effected them just the same as it effected us." RaalVile said.

And boy was that true with Malakay. She, his ex-wife, and son were forced to stay at Gordub Hospital for all of a week before being allowed to come home. The hospital had put them in quarantine; all of them were put through a battery of tests to see if they contracted what everyone who was admitted to the hospital had. Since his brother was just made a widower, Little Duru couldn't stay with him. He went and picked him up after getting the call from one of the hospital's staff. The first thing that he felt was shock over his sister-in-law's passing, while the second was sadness; his sister-in-law had died, leaving behind her ever-loving husband, and their two daughters. The third thing that he felt was fear—his wife, ex-wife, and secondborn son were in the room with Axzah when she had her reaction to... the infection that somehow got into her body. All three of them were sprayed by Axzah's infected stomach fluids, and his ex-wife was sprayed by Axzah's infected blood near the end of the ordeal.

His son was relieved to leave the hospital. Once he was a "free-man", he rushed over to pick up Duru. Little Duru had sure missed his "Pubba", and was more than happy to see him. Malakay went through a week's worth of nightmares; she wouldn't talk of the event, and he wasn't pressing her for details. Same went with his son. He and Frahfrie didn't speak anymore; their marriage went down the rocky road after he came upon her removing around ten grand from the safe that was in his office. She claimed that the money was for a relative—who he still didn't believe existed. Frahfrie went and married a man some five to ten years after their divorce; he had a feeling that she and her "cousin" were conducting an affair behind his back during the latter part of their marriage.

Axzah's death certificate simply read Death By Infection. An autopsy was performed right after her death; the doctor who was charged with her care had ordered for it to be done. Axzah's tombstone read Loving Mother, Wife, Daughter, Sister, And Sister-In-Law; October 10, 3,855,221,109,002 was under that.

"Both lost just hours apart, Raal. Now I know how our father felt after losing my mother and then Retne." RosolVile said. "My wife, and daughter..."

"They're in a better place." RaalVile said. "And they see everything that goes on—they may be gone in the flesh but they're not gone in spirit."

"Heh, thought Trobrencus was the only one of us to go to the University of Church." RosolVile smiled, then sat in his chair.

"Wisdom and plain fact, Brother." RaalVile winked, then turned the subject to something else. "No offense, Rosol—I'm your brother and all; just being honest here—, but you reek something awful. When was the last time you indulged in a little hygiene?"

"Uhhhh..." RosolVile looked at the ceiling. After a minute of saying nothing, he laughed then stood up. "If you'll please make yourself at home, I'll only be thirty minutes."

"Take care of the muff that you're wearing around your face while you're at it, Ros. You've gone from being the good-looking man that you use to be into a dirty hobo!" RaalVile said as his brother left the room.

"Check the mail in a few weeks—I'll send you a souvenir." RosolVile said while leaving the room.

As his brother showered, and shaved that rat from his face, he went down the hall, then down the stairs, then down the hall that came off the stairs. He went to the room that his nieces were in after doing that. The place where his brother and, now, just, his two daughters lived in was... quite big. The man was a very successful conqueror, who had ten galaxies to his name; if their father was around, he would of been pleased with how much of a success his firstborn son was. His brother had a galactic worth of around ten Sedecillion, which was steadily growing each year to two years. Since the banks weren't allowing him to make anymore deposits—he had more than fifty bank accounts and all of them were full; no bank branches were willing to take him, or his ever-increasing excess of money, on—, he roped off and then remodeled six rooms in his residence to become synthetic bank vaults.

The structure's outside was smooth and golden-yellow in color—he and Trobrencus sometimes joked that their brother got his contractor to use real gold when building the residence's exterior; in reality, the residence's exterior was plain, but very fine, clay. The roof had dark yellow shingles on it, while the gutters and downspouts were a dark yellow to near-orange color—while the color was abnormal, the material that was used to make them with was normal. Slick, dark gray concrete ran up and then around the property's front; the property's back had artificial grass, a lot of yard foliage, and many water sources in it. The place was about 109,000 square feet; it had around a hundred and twenty to a hundred and thirty rooms in it. There was more than one pool, inside garden, and gym in it. His brother kept the blueprints under lock and key, so he didn't really know the full extent of what was in the place.

There were more than two barns in the back, all of which housed his brother's preferred breed of horse—the Striped Gam, which was a breed that was said to be very sturdy and versatile... and which stood 16 hands high, and had a solid base coat of either bay, gray, black, sorrel, or palomino with dark stripes lining it. Along with having a basketball court to its right, the property had a U-shaped track running around its back—his brother used it when he did his morning and mid-afternoon runs. Somewhere close to the residence was a kennel. His brother used a near-skeletal beast called a Skeledoug when he went out to hunt; he had a pack of fifty animals at the moment. A large garage sat to the left of the residence; it had somewhere around fifteen to twenty-five vehicles in it.

Like with the house's blueprints, his brother kept the acreage of his property under lock and key. He estimated that the house sat on twenty-five to fifty acres of land, all of which was being used.

"Hey, Qurlah!" RaalVile said after coming upon his brother's female Azawakh.

Rosol, much to their father's displeasure, had always been a fan of lean-bodied dogs. His brother claimed that they were graceful, elegant, and good companion dogs. The fact that they were also low-maintenance—they had very short coats, and didn't do much shedding—had never been mentioned by his brother whenever the subject of his preference for lean-bodied dogs was brought up. Qurlah met the requirements of her breed very well; she had a short, flat back and long back legs that caused her hips to be higher than her withers. Qurlah also had dark, almond-shaped eyes; though looking emaciated, she really wasn't. She had a distinctive, feline gait; she stood, and moved, proudly, and always with her head, ears, and tail up. Her coat was a deep, rich, red color. No collar was worn around her neck; her owner had made the decision to forgo equipping her with that adornment some years ago.

Qurlah wagged her tail but refused to stand to acknowledge him. She remained near her mate, Toknet, who was a pureblood Ibizan Hound—yet another agile, athletic, lean-bodied dog. His brother had only two dogs roaming his vast residence; the man was quite busy with his galaxies, so he couldn't take on anymore dogs. Toknet had a short, smooth, red and white coat; his ears were large and upright on his head. His eyes were an exotic, amber color. Toknet was a little over three months old—still a puppy, who had yet to be fixed. His brother's busy schedule had yet to open enough to permit a vet visit for that to be done. He gave the dogs a pet then went to the room that they were lying before. When he grasped the door's gilded doorknob, he twisted it then pushed it in; when he walked in, he was automatically struck with a sense of fear. The maid, who was with his nieces, looked a bit unwell. So did one of the children that she was looking after.

"Vataka," RaalVile said as he dropped to his knee. He gestured for the child, and was quite surprised to see her not respond to him. It was like she didn't hear him speak, or enter the room.

"Uncle Raal!" the older of the room's two girls yelled. When she ran over, RaalVile picked her up; he held her for a few minutes before putting her down.

"You, my dear, are getting heavy." RaalVile said after putting the girl down.

HevihaVile Draza Surfeit was a perfect blend of her parents. Her head, and body, was bi-colored, with the left side being a light purple color and the right being teal-blue. Like her father, she sported small "bumps" on the sides of her head where her ears would normally be. She had almond-shaped, glass-like eyes that were a beautiful plum color; the slit-like pupils, that were in their centers, were a dark red color. There were faint gills on the sides of her neck. The flap of skin, that hung under her jaw, and the flaky patches of skin, that ran down the length of her arms, had come from her father. She had webbed fingers and toes; there was no hint of nails on her at all. Her hair was a two-tone, black and dark blue color; it ran almost to the middle of her back. Heviha, as he and the rest of the family called her, was just six hundred and thirty-seven years old; a young child, who was still as innocent as could be. Heviha was wearing a blue dress, that had a light blue tie around the middle, and blue shoes.

"Your sister okay, Hevie?" RaalVile asked after allowing himself be pulled towards the room's center, where all the toys were.

"I dunno," HevihaVile answered.

"She looks a little sick to me."

"Been cawphin', Uncle Raal." HevihaVile said.

"Been wh... how long has she been coughing?" RaalVile asked.

"All dey," HevihaVile replied before holding a blue-haired, green-bodied doll up. "She no want to pway, Uncle. She jus' sit and cawph, den cwy."

So not to cause any stress to Heviha, he played with her before going over to see Vataka. While he was no doctor by any means, he was struck with automatic worry over what Heviha told him about her sister. In all, he played with Heviha for ten minutes before going over to Vataka; while on his way to her, he glanced at the maid. The woman, who had a camel-like face, light brown fur, and glassy green eyes, looked even more sick up close. A near-clear fluid was coming from her nostrils; the kerchief, that she was using, looked over-used to him. He took note that she shuddered, or "jerked", whenever she drew the kerchief to her face. After seeing the maid, he made the decision to collect and then take his nieces from the room—his brother wouldn't want his little girls in the company of someone who was sick.

"Vatie?" he said after dropping to his knee before the younger of his nieces.

His niece fought to look at him. She only just managed to halfway lift her head from its bowed state before letting it drop. He slowly put his hand under her chin then tilted her head up; the girl, who was born with pretty, light red eyes, jerked after he touched her. The bruise-like patches of skin, that lined her neck, the sides of her head, and went down her left arm, looked darker than usual—which wasn't normal! VatakaVile Klacksi Surfeit, or Vataka, as he and the rest of the family called her, looked a lot like her father. Them eyes, and bruise-like skin patches, had come from him; her navy blue hair, while resembling that of her mother's, had, without a doubt, come from her father. Her teal-blue skin had come from her mother. Vataka was four hundred and twelve years old yet, in her current state, she looked a lot older. The purple dress, that had an apron on the front, and matching shoes looked way too big for her small, forty inch self.

He picked Vataka up at the same time that the maid suddenly collapsed then started to convulse. Heviha looked at the maid, then at him, then started to cry. Vataka, who seemed to weigh next to nothing, went limp almost at once; he yelled for his brother, who just got through stepping out of the shower, at the same time that he grabbed, and then took, Heviha, and her sister, from the room.


	10. The Foretelling

The plague's eleventh wave proved to be the deadliest to date. With nearly thirty thousand coming down and then succumbing to it, medical professionals were now sure that a pandemic was underway. All signs were pointing to one happening—the symptoms that patients were coming in with; the alarming die-off of people who came in with disturbing, and non-treatable, illnesses; the discoveries of folk who died at home, who seemed to of succumbed to the same thing that the ones who entered the hospitals had; hospice care professionals not being able to put a name to what was killing their patients; and the peculiar in-flow of patients, which seemed to increase each week to two weeks. Even though this was all known, and spoken of during the recent medical board meeting, nothing was exposed to the public. Before a report could be made, several of the ones who held the top positions in the medical field came down with, what they called, a mild cold that, almost overnight, became nearly pneumonic. The ones who came down with this illness tried to document their symptoms; it wasn't long before they became so sore, and then so weak, that they couldn't lift a pen or pencil, much less write down what they were experiencing. At around the thirty-six hour mark, an alarming new symptom joined the ones that they were experiencing: protuberances of the darkest, smelliest, and most painful sort formed on their necks, armpits, and groins. The people who held the top positions in their medical fields made one last ditch effort after the protuberances appeared to document their symptoms; of the twenty who tried to do this, only two tried to get to a hospital.

Twelve hours after trying to push themselves to write down their symptoms, all of them died. As was custom, everything that they touched was carted out and then burned—so to prevent spreading of what they came down with. If their notes were saved, or looked at and then noticed for their valuable information, the populace of the M-51 Galaxy would of gotten a warning about what was happening. Since the people who did the burning just dumped everything that was given to them in the fire, the papers were lost.

Unlike the previous ten waves, the eleventh had a sustained length of two weeks. The Surfeit family, like many others on the planet, was hit particularly hard in them weeks—six members came down and then succumbed to the plague that was just recognized by the medical field.

"Papa's quite tired right now." ShaamVile thought while doing as he was at his desk, then tuning in to see if what he heard was real or not.

Unbeknown to ShaamVile, his father felt drained by the time the eleventh wave ended. RaalVile spent all of twelve hours at his brother's place; worrying and fretting about both the man and his daughters. RosolVile dressed himself as speedily as he could after hearing his brother's yell. After getting dressed, he tore down to retrieve his daughter from his brother's arms; he then went to the room that his lived-in personal physician worked in. Vataka was seen by the man's physician right away. At first, a bad infection was diagnosed, then, two hours later, a new diagnosis of a bad cold was made. Vataka was moved to her bedroom chamber, where she remained for the rest of her life. RosolVile, a man who only just got through being talked to and set straight, stayed with her from the time she was noted as being sick to when she took her last breath. Little VatakaVile Klacksi Surfeit, who was born a week after her due date, and had a caul around her head, died exactly twelve hours after coming down with her illness. The tombstone that was placed in the cemetery had the date of October 31, 3,855,221,109,002 on it. Everyone who attended the funeral had wept over that tombstone, and the new grave that wasn't there three weeks ago. While Heviha, who was just as badly effected by her sister's passing as the rest of them, was taken inside at the funeral's conclusion, her father plain refused to leave the cemetery for a few hours. Vataka was buried to the left of her mother; the spot that she was put in wasn't picked by her father. Her uncle was the one to make the decision on where she was to be buried—while RosolVile picked out the coffin, and did the funeral preparing, he was too grief-stricken when the time came to pick the spot where she was to be buried in. By the time RosolVile came in, he was drenched from head to foot—it was raining at the time of his daughter's burial; his family thought the weather fit the occasion that they were involved in.

The pain that the family felt after Vataka's passing, and then burial, was only upped a few days later. RaalVile decided to pay the only sister of his that he hadn't heard from—Saroka was fine, she was just too busy to answer the phone, and so was Axtegae, who only just returned home after visiting friends who lived a distance from her. He decided to pay his, and his brothers', older sister a visit after hearing from Saroka and Axtegae... and a further five calls were made and not answered. The man was shocked after arriving to the apartment where NihirVile Kheentanya Dolgog, and her husband of many thousands of years, Stogku Dolgog, lived in. Not only was the door locked but no one answered when he knocked on it; when he asked two of the neighbors about his sister and brother-in-law, they claimed to of not heard anything from them for nearly a week. RaalVile did the only thing he could think of—he busted the door to bits then walked in on something that'd haunt him for years.

The apartment, where his childless sister and brother-in-law lived in, was freezing cold when he went in. After seeing how cold it was, he went to see if his sister and brother-in-law's vehicles were in the parking lot. Only after finding that they were did he get serious. He did the only thing that he could think of doing after finding the two vehicles in the parking lot—go back to the apartment then search it.

All of Nihir's pet fish were dead. The dog, that his sister received as a recent anniversary present, was missing. And four of Nihir's five cats were also dead. The discovery of Nihir and her husband, stark naked in bed, and nearly covered in blood from the protuberances that were on their necks, armpits, inner thighs, and groins exploding, had caused the man to damn near faint.

RosolVile had looked a mess during Nihir and Stogku's burial, while his only surviving daughter looked far worse. As was custom, Nihir and Stogku were buried side-by-side; the epitaph on their conjoined tombstones said _Forever in our hearts_. The two were autopsied by a doctor a few days before the burial; the man claimed that they died four days ago, so the date on their tombstone said November 4, 3,855,221,109,002.

The death of Nihir and her husband came to be all but forgotten by ShaamVile after Heviha passed away. His uncle, who obviously slipped after losing his wife, their unborn baby, and Vataka, was trying to make a comeback to normal living when his oldest daughter was discovered in her bedroom chamber. Like Nihir and Stogku, she was covered in blood from head to foot. The man's personal physician was called immediately; sadly, nothing could be done to save the child. According to RosolVile's physician, Heviha contracted the cold that her sister had; she, who was born so healthy, and hadn't a thing wrong with her, had battled it for all of a week and a half before succumbing to it. While RosolVile showed up to the funeral, he stayed far back until everyone left; his parting words were expressed for all of six hours before his swift exit of the cemetery was done.

The passing of ShaamVile's youngest sister, VlalaVile Gemalia Surfeit, was taken even harder. RaalVile, who had yet to get over his grief over losing his sister, brother-in-law, and nieces, had made the trek to see her after she stopped answering his calls. Unlike Nihir and Stogku's apartment, Vlala's was found to be both stuffy and blisteringly hot. RaalVile didn't have to search far for his daughter—she was all stretched out on the living room couch. Her body was pocked with rashes and protuberances; the doctor who did the autopsy said that an infection of some sort, and pneumonia, was the cause behind her death. Vlala was buried near the middle of the cemetery; her tombstone read November 13, 3,855,221,109,002.

The final one of the family to succumb to the plague's eleventh wave was away on business when he came down with his illness. Paegslar Gotaela, the husband of OliaVile Klahie Surfeit, and the father of four month old ShovotVile Zvoth Gotaela, was noticed by a member of his business firm. The man who checked on him had become concerned after he missed six scheduled meetings; the poor soul would be admitted to an asylum soon after discovering what lie in Paegslar's rented apartment.

Paegslar wasn't identifiable. His whole body was riddled in protuberances, which had all burst, and he was also half-covered in rashes and bruises. Olia was most inconsolerable after being told about her husband's decease; everything that her father did to comfort her was met with unsuccess. While Paegslar's body was discovered on the 14th of November, the autopsy claimed that he died a week earlier. November 7, 3,855,221,109,002 was what was put on his tombstone; Olia had to be coaxed away from the cemetery two hours following her husband's funeral.

With what was to come, ShaamVile wouldn't be surprised over forgetting some of the deaths that happened in the month of November. The eleventh wave of the plague was only a small taste of what was to come; if anyone in his family had known of the events there were to come, they would of done more than find a hole, or underground bunker, to hide in. A speedy boarding of one of the available spacecrafts that were owned by either he, his father, or uncle would of been done; they would of gone to a different galaxy, where they would be safe from plague-contamination, and further heartbreak. Since no one knew of what was going on, they stayed where they were. Everyone stayed vulnerable, and put themselves at risk of contracting the next few waves that were soon to hit the galaxy.

"Must be hearing things." ShaamVile thought after going back to what he was doing.

It was three days past Paegslar's burial. Even though ShaamVile didn't want to do it, he found himself as compelled to; when the phone rang, he went to answer it. At first, he thought it was Trobrencus—the man's cellular was rung countless times, and several text messages were sent to him, telling him about the untimely passing of his sister and in-laws. No one had heard from him in a long time and, as far as everyone knew, he was still in his underground bunker. When ShaamVile answered the phone in his office, he received a shock. Instead of his caller being the second oldest of his uncles, he found that it was none other than his father-in-law—Lorboriann Shaar.

With his just losing Nihir and her husband, Heviha, Vataka, Vlala, and Paegslar, he came close to slamming the receiver to the base unit then ripping the cord from the wall. Speaking to Lorboriann, and hearing his torrent of negative words, was the last thing he needed right not. It took a considerable amount of effort to not do that. Instead of slamming the phone down, then ripping its cord from the wall, he cleared his throat then addressed the man.

"Lorboriann," ShaamVile said. "Wh—"

"It's about damn time! I've been calling you for two weeks now!" his father-in-law sang.

"What is it you want?" he asked.

"What do you think I want you Oaf? You're more than two months late in sending us pictures of our grandson. Where are they?" Lorboriann snapped.

"Thought you and Amjufaria wanted nothing to do with Duru." ShaamVile said.

He had heard not a word from the Shaar's since the event that occurred in the park on the ninth of July. With their silence, he had figured that their interest in wanting anything to do with his son was satiated and then discarded. He wasn't sure if Lorboriann's claim of trying to call him was correct or not; with all of what he and his had gone through in the last few weeks, he wasn't able to stick around home or concern himself with the task of answering the phone. None of his staff had made a memo about Lorboriann calling him; that went double for anyone coming up and then saying that the man was placing calls to his number for the last two weeks.

Attending funerals, and the receptions that were held after them; looking after the members of his family that were having a difficult time in dealing with their sorrow; looking into the care of his galaxies while trying to not succumb to the aches that he felt over the losses that happened in his family that year; and the general care given to his son, who seemed to be doing fine with all that was going on that month, was what he concerned himself with the most.

"Whoever put that thought in that head of yours needs to be shot and fast," Lorboriann snickered. The man was silent for a few minutes; ShaamVile was about to hang the phone up when he spoke again. "I take it that you've been giving him "lessons" on how to destroy worlds, and the lives of others, during the last few months?"

"No. With the exception of the depressing events that he's been attending these past few months, his routine is very much the same." ShaamVile answered.

"I take that as a confession to your already starting him down the path of destruction." Lorboriann said. "Egla would be most displeased with this knowledge."

He and Egla had actually spoken at length about what his family did during their first, official date. While she was shocked over learning that his family eked out a living by going to war with other realms, and conquered distant galaxies and planets, she didn't say anything adverse or highly negative about it. While Egla sounded sympathetic to the folk of the realms that he and his family conquered, she didn't say anything about their needing to stop, or how cruddy they were. She just asked a few questions pertaining to how they went by looking after the folk who were unscathed by the wars and battles that took place in their galaxy, and how they went by tending to matters in the governments of the realms that they took over. After becoming a real, official couple, he discussed with her about what he wanted their offspring to do with their lives.

He had never forced Egla into doing something that she didn't want to do. Instead of saying that she was to let their offspring follow in his footsteps, and that she had no say on whether they became conquerors, he just talked to her about that happening. He just said that he didn't want their children to be of the lowly sort—the type that just woke up then did a boring routine that garnered them no benefits. He also said that he didn't want them to put waste to their lives. Egla, as always, had listened to him then, after he was done in speaking his mind on the subject, she expressed her feelings, and fears, over what was expected of their children.

While Egla disclosed an interest in wanting their children to have a good, safe life, she didn't say a thing against their following in his footsteps, or being sent to schools that'd teach them how to be conquerors. Naturally, she was fearful of their offspring getting hurt during their campaigns, and of one, or more, being killed while in battle; he had comforted her, and told her that she had a right in fearing that, then he told her that he had plans to teach each and every one of their offspring the tricks on how not to get killed while on the battlefield. Injuries were bound to happen, he told her, but there were a good many of ways to keep yourself from getting fatally injured, or killed, during battle; with his history in being a conqueror already known to her, she felt assured that he'd do all he could to ensure their offspring's safeties during their conquering days.

"What happens if they don't want to become conquerors?" he remembered her asking him one day. "What if they want to be normal?"

The answer to that question was simple: nothing would happen. If one, or more, of their offspring showed an interest in not being a planetary or galactic conqueror, he'd not bat an eyelash or grow tempered with them. He'd continue being a parent to them, and he'd continue loving them; his family, he had assured her, would do the same thing. That had closed that subject.

"No, nothing of the sort." ShaamVile said. "He just wakes up, eats, plays, craps and/or pisses his diapers... he's just having a normal toddler's life."

"And yet you mention his attending depressing events—that's quite contradicting to what you just said." Lorboriann sounded so proud of himself. He rolled his eyes. "Pray tell me, what "depressing" events has that child, who, as you just said, leads a normal life, become involved in?"

"Funerals, Lor." he replied.

"Funerals?" a normal person would gasp, and then experience their spine stiffening, and then pupils contracting, after hearing that word; he pictured Lorboriann doing the exact opposite of that. Lorboriann was probably standing normally or, if he was sitting, just slouching in a chair. Lorboriann had sounded mildly interested in the word, but not in the way a normal person would be.

"Yessir—a few of mine have perished over the last few months. As of this month, we've had s—" he started to explain.

"The great cloud of Karma comes to yours with a ravenous vengeance," Lorboriann laughed.

"No. While we don't know what's going on, we're sure that no one's out to get us, or that we've done anything to attract—"

"Amjufaria! Looks like the Surfeit family's getting their way past-dues!" Lorboriann suddenly yelled. "People been dropping for no reason in that clan."

"Good! Let them learn that their dastardly ways come with a dire consequence!" Amufaria's yell reached his shocked ears loud and clear.

"That's the reason I'm being fed behind our not getting any further photographs of Duno." Lorboriann said loudly.

"Likely story." Amjufaria must be close to the phone—not only did she speak normally but he was able to hear her. "Not good enough. Have at him and good, Lorboriann. I want them photographs."

While his temper wasn't as bad as his grandfather's, he felt it soaring and gaining both heat and altitude in his body. Just hearing the Shaar's get a cheap thrill from his family's misfortunes was as infuriating as it was shocking. No one in his family had deserved to die; no one had done a thing to gain the searching eye of "Karma". The members of his family had still continued to go to church, normal routines were exercised, normal entertainments were experienced, no galactic or planetary conquerings occurred for nearly thirty years... everyone was happy, healthy, and enjoying life up to real recent.

His brother, who he once paired up with to snatch bags full of Oysters from the seafood restaurant that was still in Falaroni, the town that he and his full-siblings were raised near, didn't deserve to die. Not only had he done nothing conquering-wise for years but he was as religious as him—every Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday, without fail, he'd show up for mass. It didn't matter if he had a full schedule, was expected to be in for a medical appointment, or wasn't feeling well; once them days of the week came around, he and Suha would dress themselves in their best then head off to church for a few hours.

Ofnavat didn't do anything to be put in the ground. He was just a two-month old baby for crying out loud! All he cared about was getting fed, having his diaper changed, having his toys around, and being around the ones who loved and cared about him. His parents, while not as religious as he and Zaal, had still gone to church every Monday and Sunday. Corran was a housing representative, and Olia was a stay-at-home wife and mother... they didn't do anything to gain the death of their son.

While Axzah wasn't very religious before marrying his uncle, she turned to being one after the two exchanged vows. She didn't have any involvements with her husband's conquests, or other-world dealings... She was just a very much loved housewife and mother of two. She, like his brother and Ofnavat, didn't deserve to die. Axzah's unborn daughter didn't deserve to die either; she was still in the womb... just an innocent, unborn baby who was waiting to be born to parents who loved children and wanted more than anything in the whole wide Universe to have them.

Heviha and Vataka were as healthy as could be, and definitely didn't do anything to attract the attention of Death. Oh, the two had their moments where they were unruly, and where they drove their parents up a wall and back, but they didn't do anything to ask to be put in the ground. The two were children, nothing more or less; they were as innocent, and as sweet, as can be.

While Nihir had a troubled childhood, she didn't ask for Death to come knocking on her door. Nihir had spent around twenty thousand years in-and-out of rehab centers for her drug addictions, and abuses; she spent half of her adult life living under her father's roof until finally finding the strength to get over her addictions—which happened right when she met her husband, who his grandfather accepted as her partner right away. Nihir was an especially Gods Fearing Lass; church every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday for her... Every event that happened at the church that she and her husband went to was attended by her... The Good Book was devoutly carried by her everywhere, and was also read and adhered to. The only issue that Nihir had in her life was the sterility thing—the drugs that she did had caused her reproductive organs to stop working. Regardless of her inability to have children, Nihir still went by life well and continued loving her husband and religion.

Paegslar might of had a very rough childhood but he turned out alright and, even better, he found the right Lass to make happy and spend time with. From what he was told, Paegslar's parents made the decision to get rid of him at the seven-month mark of the pregnancy; the man was ripped from his mother's womb in a back alley, then thrown in a dumpster. If not for his cries, he wouldn't of been found or taken to the hospital. He spent all of his childhood going in and out of foster homes and orphanages. Like Nihir, he also dabbed in drugs but, unlike Nihir, he stopped doing them before they got a good hold on him. He might not of been a regular at church, but he was religious. Like his brother and Suha, Ofnavat, Axzah, Sola, Heviha, Vataka, and Nihir and Stogku, he didn't deserve to die.

His baby sister might of been a bit of a loon, and might of spent a lot of her early years following this and that musical act from one venue to the next, but she didn't ask for or deserve to die. Vlala was a free-spirit... An especially independent individual who wore her heart on her sleeve; no drugs, no sex escapades, little to no alcohol consumption, no smoking... She was just a fine Lass with a good perspective on life, and who practiced good habits. Like with his brother, he was going to miss his free-spirited sisa.

"You know, you two are a real hoot. A bonafide hoot. I do hope that what happened with mine this month doesn't happen with you or any of yours." ShaamVile said. The phone was dropped to its base unit; with his anger being what it was, he'd not find himself a bit surprised over discovering that its cord was ripped from where it was.

It took him over an hour to calm down from his insult-given fury. During that time, he took care of matters that revolved around one of his conquered realms. The Lyrae Galaxy was the latest galaxy that he took to his control; even after seventy-six years, the civilians that resided on its forty planets had yet to accept him, and his rule, which meant that he had to keep near-constant watch of them and their activities. He had tried half of what he knew to gain their trust and acceptance: raise benefits; increase pay in certain jobs; create more than a thousand jobs in fields that the galaxy's former rulers didn't give much mind or care towards; create a system where low-income families, or folk who were incapacitated by physical or mental ailments, would gain a certain amount of monies each month; drop crude oil prices, and the price of certain items that were sold in stores; and, of course, drop all them silly, or unneeded, laws that their former rulers imposed on them. So far, no go. He was now putting a tough approach to the situation—if being pleasant to gain the respect that he wanted from his people did nothing then being rough, tough, and mean would.

He only had to pull the extreme rough, tough, and mean aspect of being a conqueror out once during his career. The people of the GG-135 Object were a bit of a vicious bunch, who just refused to accept that their old rulers were felled by him and that he was their new ruler. Being pleasant didn't hit it off with them. Being half-pleasant didn't hit it off with them. Being of the normal mean and rough and tumble sort didn't faze them. He was forced to put half of one planet's populace in work camps, a third of another's population in prison, instill a strict curfew to four other planets, imply heavy taxes to twenty other planets, and threaten to drop any and all monetary assistance programs, and programs that assisted one in their education, on the rest of the planets. Only after promising to do worse had the people of that galaxy accepted him and his rule. He had learned a lot from conquering that galaxy, which, at the time, was only the second one that he took to his control.

Only after affixing a stop to certain goods being sold and/or traded, and then increasing the daily cost of living, to the galaxy that's denizens were causing him grief did he look at the clock that was on his desk. It was nearing three in the afternoon. His son was in his playroom all day; except for that one time, where he thought he heard something coming from that room, he hadn't really heard much from him since going to his office to deal with the situation that was happening in the Lyrae Galaxy. He placed all of what he just did in a folder, which was swiftly put by the fax machine that was to the left of the room's casement, double-paned, windows, then stood from his chair; he went to the room that his son was in after doing this.

"Duru?" ShaamVile said after entering the room that his son was seen in last. His son, who was busy with making a series of red, yellow, orange, and green circles on a piece of paper, looked up after hearing his voice. It was instantaneous that the crayons were dropped; his son ran to him as fast as he could.

"Pubba!" DuruVile said.

His father had said something around the area of his son looking for him all during the week that he was stuck in Gordub Hospital. Duru had gone from one room to the next, and dragged his grandfather from one part of the house to the other... he only stopped doing this after coming upon a photograph of him—which he promptly grabbed and then refused to put down. His father also said something about Duru saying the word 'Pubba' constantly; an attempt was made to get him to say something other than that with no success... even the attempt to get Duru to put the letters G-R-A-M-P in front of Pubba didn't work.

The events that occurred after Axzah's passing were quite speedily done. He, his mother, and Malakay were told to follow two nurses to a room about five minutes after Axzah was declared as deceased. The room that they were taken to was separated in tiers of three by thick plastic; after reaching the room, then going to their appointed "quarters", they were told to remove all of what they were wearing—thanks to there being no curtains in his given tier, the act of undressing himself was a bit troublesome. All of what they were wearing was removed, then put in bags; a normal hospital gown was given to them about an hour later. A full day went by before any testing was done on them.

He was perfectly fine with his appointed nurse taking samples of his saliva, skin, hair, and blood. Unlike his mother and stepmother, who were forced to endure three days of this type of testing, he was only bothered on day two and three of his quarantine for them. It was the urine and semen collecting that bothered him—he never wanted another catheter put in him again! Having that damn piece of hollow plastic shoved up his urethra was bad enough... the nurse wasn't slow in doing it, nor was she sympathetic to the pain that he felt during the process of her shoving it in. Having the thing removed wasn't pleasant either—not only was it ripped out but it also burned like hell! He did more than bite his lip when the call was made to remove the thing from his body. His appointed nurse was also rough during the process of collecting his sperm—she did it hurriedly... so much so that he came close to thinking that she was trying to tear it off during the collection of that sample.

Needless to say, he pretty much ran from the hospital after the week of quarantine came to a close. All of what he was wearing on the day that Axzah passed away was returned to him; he donned it then left the hospital. A very happy Duru was collected about thirty minutes later. Seeing home after being away from it for a whole week was nice... as was his having a more than decent meal.

"What say I take you outside?" ShaamVile said to his son, who he missed oh so much during the week that he was hospital-stuck. "Have you put on your horse, then led around in a series of circles, or have you run around... Get some fresh air, play a bit, and expel some energy in the process."

"Otee," DuruVile said after being picked up, then held close.


	11. The Twelfth Wave

Normally, the months between January and July were the warmest/hottest for the M-51 Galaxy's middle-lying sector. This wasn't present in 3,855,221,109,002. That year, the people who called them planets home experienced a prolonged period of warmer/hotter weather, which many took for granted. No one put into consideration about what the prolonged summer season was doing to the natural pathogens, or atmospheres of the planets that they lived on, or about how their immune systems would react to the sudden shift in the seasonal changes that were soon to happen.

When cooler weather started creeping into the sector in the month of October, no one was really ready for it. Coats were slowly removed from where they were while the other winter-wears were nearly forgotten to be removed from their storage spaces. Normally, the changing of the seasons would be slow—a half-so gradual change started in early October, which continued right up through the middle part of November, before a very noticeable drop in temperature was noted.

The twelfth wave of the plague, which would eventually be named after a young doctor named Dofsuuk Shlock, crept into the atmosphere of Gamma Vile on the particularly cold night of November 21. Like with all of the other waves, it was unnoticed; except for one thing that hindered some from getting in a good night's sleep, everyone was oblivious to it.

November 22, 6:25 a.m.; Lorboriann and Amjufaria's place

"Hey, hello, and Brrr—a good chill rolled in last night, so be sure to step out before downing that cup of Joe. Everyone on the western side of the planet woke to find frost on windows and lawns; the wind was mad last night, but has since cooled down to a slight breeze. At day-break, it was no more than thirty degrees; the spheres of our galaxy were a haze over the horizon when most woke from their slumbers. The radiation levels this morning are normal, as always. It's heading on six-thirty, so get yo'selves up from bed, it is time to—"

The old, analog AM/FM tabletop clock radio, that sat atop his and his wife's curved, chestnut-wood side table, was promptly shut off. It was quite unnatural for him to just lie in bed after shutting it off, but he found himself as both doing it and relishing in it. After nearly five minutes of lying there, fighting the urge to roll over and go back to sleep, and let the fatigue that he was feeling claim him, he got up then started the routine that he was only mildly aware of doing.

It seemed to take forever before he reached the bathroom that sat to the left of his and his wife's bedroom. When he entered it, he was treated to believing that the vanity, toilet, and shower were a mile from him. He shook his head, then went to the thing that he wanted to use most. He found himself as having to nearly lean against the metal spacesaver that was against the wall that the toilet was fastened to when he went to pee, then he found himself as having to lean against the wall that the bathtub was against when he went to shower. Normally, the water from the faucet would give him half the aid that he needed to get fully awake; on this morning, it barely did this. If anything, it made his fatigue, and the ache that he felt, grow worse. After showering, then brushing his teeth, and washing his mouth out with Nysterine, he shuffled back to the bedroom.

"Down a Duprofen—it'll help wonders." Lorboriann thought before entering the room that he was heading towards.

And so it did... for a short while, that was. He was able to don a pair of dark gray formal pants, a gray leather belt, and a pocketed white, long sleeve, button down shirt before the ache started to return. He threw on a pair of gray socks, then a pair of black formal shoes, then grabbed the usual stuff that he put on himself on the days that he was required to go to work while trying to stave off the ache. He was sliding the pens, pencils, and the pad of paper into his pocket while exiting the room that he and his wife slept in; while the ache in his head was slowly creeping back, it wasn't as bad as it was when he woke up—which he was glad for! No ache had ever knocked him down. No ache of any part of his body had ever kept Lorboriann Walriss Shaar from doing what he strived to do each day. Even as a child, he hadn't let any aches or ailments keep him down.

"That's right, Lo-Lo! You show them what you got. You, the son of a Pharmacist, have the right stuff to keep you going forever." he remembered his father saying when he pushed himself when something threatened to get him down.

The sweet aroma of potato hash could be smelled. His stomach, which had gone a full nine hours without having a single thing to digest, caused the ache that he felt to be temporarily forgotten. He rushed downstairs, then stopped long enough to grab his wallet and other pocket-worthy items that he usually carried on himself, which were always placed on the top shelf of the media cabinet that he and his wife used as a storage space for their collectible things, then gave the reflection that he saw in the oval mirror that was mounted above the cabinet a good checking.

While his father's hair was a shade lighter, a lot heavier, and a tinge longer than his, he was sure that he got his hair from him. His mother was the one that he got his steel-gray eyes from. His father had always envied the woman... He always went around, boasting that it was Lynbora Broxlin's eyes that gained his amorous attentions. The man was more than pleased when he came out with them; he said that he'd catch a good many girls with just the flash of his eyes... and he did. During his teenage and early adult years, he had swooned more than enough schoolmates and young women with just the single action of either blinking or showing his eyes. Amjufaria had sure been swept off her feet by them—though she said that it was actually his personality that grabbed her attention, he knew it was his eyes that grabbed most, if not all, of it.

"The line that you come from isn't what you'd call old by any means, Lorboriann. From what your gran'paddy discovered a few hundred years before his death, our line goes back a hundred to a hundred and fifty thousand years. That, in regards to the other lines out there, is relatively new... which makes us special." his father said one day when he went to him with some questions on his heritage.

During the search that he did on his family line, he discovered that the members of his family only allowed themselves to do the full-blown propagation thing after reaching fifteen to twenty thousand years of age. It was a preference thing, his father said; why waste the goods with women of low caliber when there's well to-do women out there that you're meant to be with? His father admitted to being twenty thousand years old when he met, and then married, his mother and he also admitted to being that age when he lost his virginity. His grandfather, Vulbor Sooje Shaar, was a little over double his father's age when he finally settled down to make a family; Vulbor's father, Jillinoro Shaar, went a stretch of thirty thousand years before settling down to make a family and his father, Amffo Shaar, was forty-five thousand years old when he met the woman who'd help him make a family of six.

The libraries where most of his research was done in had only four documents on his line. Unless a good majority of the documents that were made on his family were thrown away, or lost among the many stacks of other family logs that were in the archives, or destroyed in either accidental or intentional fires or disasters, his line was exactly what his father said it was—relatively new. With himself included in the mix, it only had five male-generations to its name. With the exception of his father, most of its men had made daughters with their chosen partners; his father was really the only one in his line to be prolific in making more sons than daughters... actually, his father made the decision to get the units cut after his brother was born, so no daughters were allowed to be born through him and Lynbora Broxlin. His father said that two was enough for anyone to make—no need to force a woman to have more than that; it puts unneeded stress on a woman's physical and emotion self, and it also makes finances become a bit sketchy, he use to say. He agreed full-heartily with that notion.

While his units were only half intact, his father would be proud of him for looking after his woman. His near-fifteen thousand year marriage to Amjufaria had only produced three daughters. Their first was in the womb for five months before being lost while Gaazikia and Egla were born at nearly eight and a half and nine month gestation. Even though his species was among the many that were granted the gift of immortality, he wasn't pushing the envelope or forcing his wife to have anymore children than what they already had. If Amjufaria disclosed a clear interest in wanting to have another child, he would initiate the process in making it; if she didn't, he wouldn't pop out in a rash or grow frustrated. A man had to have his priorities in line and, for him, his wife and their children were tops on his list.

"And, most unfortunately, I'm lacking one of my daughters." Lorboriann thought before turning to go to the house's kitchen and dining room.

This thought always caused him agony... Sadness over losing the youngest daughter that he and Amjufaria had birthed and raised; regret over not being able to keep her fully grounded; and anger over her crossing the Forbidden Bridge to be with that overly muscled, too-tall, inconsiderate oaf of a man who reigned from folk who caused chaos in the Universe. He and Amjufaria had done just about everything that they could think of to keep them separate to no avail. Egla, an innocent teenager, who hadn't a bit of experience with motions that revolved around the heart, or understood what she was getting herself into, had insisted on being with the man and the man had made absolutely no effort to keep her away.

While he and his wife had an interest in having grandchildren, they weren't really looking forward to anything that ShaamVile was working to produce with their daughter. To him, ShaamVile had only sex and the continuation of his line in mind; he wasn't worrying or putting any consideration in on the woman that he took on to be his partner. He forced his daughter, who's body hadn't yet developed to sustain the life of another, into becoming a factory for babies. Egla was such a small thing in comparison to the man that she fell so "madly" for... she barely came to his chest, and her body build was so much more fragile than his own. The Surfeit clan were known for having big babies... he had worried from the start of the engagement about his daughter succumbing to the stresses that her "man" was forcing her to partake in and, in fact, he had tried on more than one occasion to end the pregnancies that the two had. Three of his tries had ended in success, while the others met their tragic ends on their own. Egla's body had proved him correct on them losses; the babies had either been too big for it to carry and nurture until delivery day or it wasn't able to produce the enzymes to keep the fetus healthy.

Pretty much everyone on the planet knew who the Surfeit family was. The family was the most prominent one on Gamma Vile and, for that matter, the M-51 Galaxy... To him, they might as well be standing right beside the one that was fronted by Teluder Kakian. He tried being nice with Shaam on the first few times that he was brought home then, after he continued following his daughter home, he started getting firm. Amjufaria had done her best to sway Egla from the man, and so had he. The man had such an unhealthy hold over their daughter that nothing they said, or did, or promised to do, had gotten through to her. In a way, they lost their daughter on the day that her eye landed on him... She was forever lost to them now.

Died after—not in, as he commonly voiced it—childbirth... Died two weeks after giving birth to the Next In Line to the Surfeit clan. Such a shame. A bloody shame! He cursed himself for not being harder on Shaam; maybe, if he sent him away on the first night that he was brought home for formal introductions, Egla would still be alive. He felt like a failure in the paternal department for not being able to keep his daughter from the man. For not being able to keep her safe from one who was more than four times her age.

"Lorboriann?" his wife said. He stopped on a dime, then blinked after noticing that he was six inches from walking into the refrigerator. The ache in his head had somehow managed to overcome his hunger... and it also did something to his senses. He could of swore that the fridge was five feet from him. Not six inches.

"Sorry," Lorboriann said as he opened the box to remove the carton of orange juice. While pulling the juice from the fridge, he thought, "Cold weather causes the senses of some folk to fizzle out, and it also causes the brain to be slower in responding to things."

He poured himself a glass of juice, drained it, then sat at the round, thick wood table that was in the center of the dining room. Amjufaria brought him his breakfast, and a cup of coffee, a few minutes later; he found that the ache in his head, which started being felt at around the time that he slipped himself from her, grew with each bite that he took of his meal. His wife, who was notoriously famous for being of the quiet and to-herself type during the morning hours—a trait that two of their descendants would be granted—, said nothing while they ate. He was surprised to find himself as staring at her; while some would see that she was plain, and not very beautiful to look at, he found her as enchanting, and pretty. She was a tough girl on both the inside and outside. He admired that, he really did. Amjufaria Yilkakack was raised by a single parent, who was also raised by a single parent. Her mother, Elde Yilkakack, had to contend with four brothers, who taught her how to be tough and fast; Amjufaria had only to contend with two sisters, but that didn't mean that she had it easy in her raising days. Elde had done her best to toughen her daughters up—she had said that a tough woman was a woman who could handle herself in any situation... and that a tough woman was better than one that was soft.

While he was no softie by a long shot, he was vocal in saying that his wife could best him at any time of the day with just a quick glance. Amjufaria knew ways of keeping her menfolk at bay, that was for sure. Amufaria worked in the next town over as a high school teacher; she had to be at work soon so, to ensure that she'd get there on time, and that her tongue didn't lash at him, he said nothing to her.

The earlier call-out was a normal, natural thing, he told himself. She saw that he was about to walk into the fridge; as his wife, she made the decision to look into his well-being by getting his attention so he wouldn't do that. Her speaking to him just when he finished his breakfast was as shocking as it was confusing—the ache in his head grew with his shock after she did this.

"You feeling alright?" Amjufaria asked.

"Feel fine," Lorboriann lied. "Why do you ask?"

"Look a little pale around the cheeks, and eyes." she said.

"Probably because I just remembered that I'm slated to lose the Wollognor account." he said. "Biggest account in Alorelar—worth over ten million."

"Don't fret over it." his wife said. "There's other accounts for you to look after, and maintain."

"Tell that to my boss—Mr. By-The-Books Bomofod Cohoes."

The explanation as to why he looked a little pale was nothing but a lie, but it was all that he could think of to say. Alorelar, the bank branch that he worked at, was one of the smaller bank branches in their town. He started working for banks thirty-three thousand years ago, or nearly all of his adult life; he came by his current job nearly twelve thousand years ago, after he and his family moved to Peseta. He, honestly, couldn't see himself doing anything else than what he did for a living. Working a bank had good benefits to it, and the pay was better than decent. At the moment, Alorelar had two or three large accounts in it... all of which were tended by a man by the name of Sulenan Nadir, and had a worth of around fifty thousand to a million dollars to them. A far cry from what he told his wife, who knew nothing about working banks or, for the matter, what all happened in his place of work. His wife took and accepted his explanation without further question; they finished their meal, gathered the things that they needed to take to work with them, bid each other good day, then shoved off.

His drive to work seemed slower than usual for a good, damn reason—a new ache tried to get him in more than two accidents that morning. With the ache in his head being as bad as it was, he was starting to get a bit dizzy. He slowed to twenty-five miles an hour; this would be one of the few days that he clocked in late at Alorelar and, in fact, everyone was shocked when he walked in fifteen minutes late. He just smiled, then did his usual in sliding his card into the machine after walking in. After doing that, he sat behind his desk then started the process of sifting through the paperwork that his boss already gave him. He ran through numbers, then checked into the background histories on the folk who came in asking for loans, then looked into the accounts that needed to be looked at. By the time he was done with the latter task, his headache had grown. So had his dizziness.

A paper cone was retrieved from the slot that was on the water dispenser about an hour after he clocked in. One of his colleagues was asked the question of whether he had any head-medicines on his person after the cone was filled to its top. His colleague, a man who looked quite vibrant, and had a good kick to his step, gave him one of his extra strength Aberpronens then asked if he was okay. He said that it was the sudden change in the weather that was making him feel a little low before heading back to his desk.

Two calls were answered, then a client was seen about fifty minutes after the Aberpronen was taken, then four appointments were set-up, before the decline of a hefty loan was made. The Aberpronen that he took nearly two hours ago was doing doodley squat for him! If anything, it made his ache and dizziness become worse. After declining the loan, he stood then went straight for his boss's office; he explained his situation, heard the man talk, and disclose a bit of concern for him, then left the building.

"Just the weather. Play it cool, drive home slow then get in bed." Lorboriann thought as he got into his car. For some reason, he glanced at the building that he worked in. If he knew that this was the last time that he'd see it, he'd of done more than just sit in his car. He would of gone inside to ask his boss to call an ambulance if he knew of what was going on with him.

When he drove into the driveway that was to the right of the two-level, brick colonial house that he and his wife lived in, he felt about drained of all energy. The house, which had three bedrooms, and two bathrooms, in it, and sat on an acre of land, seemed very far away when he left his car. He shook his head, then ambled forward on legs that felt more like boulders, after leaving his car. Due to his disorientation, and dizziness, he found himself nearly unable to get the key into the door's keyhole. This gave him a minor fright, which he fought to discard; the real fear that'd have him in its grasp claimed him the second he entered the house.

Drip. Drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip.

It came from his nose, and it wasn't slow by any means. The blood, along with being its normal, dark orange color, came from his left nostril almost like a waterfall; after seeing it, he ran to the nearest bathroom then grabbed a wad of tissues. He plugged the nostril up then shot up to the bed that he and his wife slept in. He had no more reached the room when his other nostril started bleeding; he repeated the process of plugging it up before discarding his clothes. The bed, once he was on it, felt so soft and comfortable... it almost felt like he never lay on it, which was strange, since he bought it almost four months ago.

"Headache's just caused you to have a nosebleed, that's all." Lorboriann thought as he lie on the bed. "Been fighting it all night... Very little sleep was able to be gotten, thanks to it."

He didn't know how long he was on the bed, just looking at the ceiling, thinking his thoughts and trying to give some self-comfort to himself, but, when the wet cough began, it felt like he was on the bed for an hour and a half... or maybe two. The cough started slow, then grew phenomenally fast; he used the shirt that he previously wore to cover his mouth with when he coughed—an action that he had never done before in his long, thirty-seven thousand, four hundred, and twelve years of living! His father had always practiced good hygiene, and he did his best to pass that off to him and his brother... The man would surely frown at his use of his shirt to cough in.

"You just got a bad cold after the weather changed over." he said after his coughing fit ended.

The idea of his having a bug of some sort seemed to be well cemented when the contents that were in his stomach started churning. He swallowed more than a dozen times, then clamped his hand over his mouth when the urge to puke came, then, when he couldn't hold it in anymore, he darted to the bedroom's adjacent bathroom. Thanks to how light-headed he felt, he ran into the doorframe, then bounced off the vanity, before finally collapsing and then crawling towards the very thing that he was trying to get to. Along with his breakfast, he found that an orange-y fluid came up after he threw the commode's lid up; this caused him to become fearful of what was going on. His last medical appointment was done two months ago... He was checked over for stomach and rectal cancer during it and, thankfully, the tests all came back negative for both. Had the doctors been wrong? Was his stomach actually sick, and was he suffering the effects of not a cold weather bug but a cancer that was reeking havoc on his insides?

"Oh the Gods!" Lorboriann groaned after feeling his bowels erupt.

As he puked, he had diarrhea. The bathroom floor, from the toilet on back to the bathtub, was covered in the slew that was coming from him. It took him a total of fifteen minutes before both ailments went away; he had a quick shower when they were done, then tried his best to clean the bathroom of its vile excrement before going back to bed. After experiencing what he did, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Sleep would make his ailment go away faster, he told himself; it would make any of what happened next seem less severe. He snapped his eyes, which were more than glazed over, and quite watery, shut then waited for sleep to happen. The clock, when he finally opened them, said that two hours went by—two hours and all he did was lie with his eyes shut! Sleep had refused to come to him... but, thankfully, his aches and pains seemed to of ebbed down some. Maybe all he needed was to purge himself of all the bad that he had in him. Maybe the purging in the bathroom, coupled with the embarrassing diarrhea, had done him and his system good. Maybe—

His top half shot up right when he started to cough. This second round of coughing was worse than the first, and it had a friend to accompany it. Stars danced before his eyes as he coughed up his blood; his stomach gurgled, and threatened to release whatever it managed to save from being thrown earlier... The most alarming thing that occurred to him during this second round of coughing was the pain that he felt on his neck, armpits, inner thighs, and groin. While trying to keep his blood from being expelled from him, he forced himself from the bed that he was sitting on; he went to the bathroom then started a quick examination of the parts of his body that were causing him grief.

"These weren't here two hours ago," he said after noticing the red-black boils that were on his neck.

His fear over what was going on was increased a few minutes later, after he discovered that there were other parts of his body that had boils on them. The two boils, that were on his inner thighs, were large, and hurt a considerable bit; there was a single boil protruding from each of his armpits, which were the deepest of black, and had a right bad smell to them. The boil, that sat to the left of his penis, was what caused him to yell... It was bigger than his sole remaining testicle and, to make matters worse, it had a small, white cap on it.

"Acne." Lorboriann tried to say. "I was prone to getting it as a teenager..."

When he became a teenager, he found himself as having a bit of an acne problem. He wouldn't say that it started overnight, because it didn't; the annoying little bumps started appearing on his face, then spread to his back about twenty to twenty-five years after he reached one thousand, one hundred years old. One day, after coming home from school, his father took him to the side for a little chat on the issue. According to what the man told him, he was also a victim to the abuse that the skin of a teenager gave its master; his father was a bit prone to getting acne on his groin and, in a way, so had he. It took a few treatments with the cream that his father used on himself before the bumps went away.

After seeing the white cap that was on the protuberance, he calmed himself down then reached for the medicine cabinet. A little prick with the needle would end the issue with the bump; the fluid would drain, he'd clean himself up, then apply a bandage to the area so it wouldn't attract bacteria before going back to bed. He wasn't slow in puncturing the bump with the needle's end nor was he slow in screaming after the bump started gushing the fluid that was his blood.

"You know, you two are a real hoot. A bonafide hoot. I do hope that what happened with mine this month doesn't happen to you or any of yours." he remembered ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit saying before hanging up. The seventeenth of November was the last time that he and his not-wanted, but gotten anyways, son-in-law had spoken. He had wondered where the photographs, that he and his wife got every month, were after four months passed without them showing up in their mailbox; instead of saying that they were on their way, or that he forgot to send them, the man put forth the excuse of some of his family dying as the cause of their absence.

The idea of his son-in-law putting a curse on him crossed his mind as he tried to plug the popped cap of the protuberance. He thought this for a short while before discarding it; ShaamVile may be a big, sturdy, oaf of a man but he knew the laws and went by them well. He wouldn't put curses on folk—if he did, he would of offed him a long time ago. He knew the man didn't like him; he had good incentive to off him on just that sentiment.

"Shit, plug up will you!" Lorboriann said after placing a small towel over the protuberance that he was trying to end the bleeding of.

The towel grew to being a very orange color in a very short span of time. He was reaching for one of the towels that he and his wife used after leaving the shower when he lost his footing. When he collapsed to the floor, the towel that he was using went in one direction while blood gushed in the other. After collapsing, he spent a few seconds of crawling towards the bathtub before feeling the little strength that he had ebb away. The blue lilac wallpaper, that was on the walls, swam around and around before him; the dark blue vinyl floor either bubbled up or washed away in places; the vanity, toilet, medicine cabinet, and the dark blue carpet that ended just before the door became fuzzy. The wound that was on his groin continued to bleed for all of a minute before finally slowing down; he was just starting to wonder what that orange color was that was on the floor when his vision started to fail.

"Am...ju...far...ia." Lorboriann Shaar said right when his consciousness was lost.

He drifted off to his final sleep right when his wife looked up from the tests that she just started to grade. Amjufaria Yilkakack, his wife of nearly fifteen thousand years, who would, in six hours time, come home to find his lifeless body lying sprawled across the bathroom that was adjacent their bedroom, gazed into space for all of two minutes before finally snapping out of her mysterious trance. She, who knew nothing of what was going on at home, went back to grading papers while he took his final breaths.

November 23, 10:55 a.m.; Khabok Shaar's place

It wasn't good for him to be doing as he was, but he found himself as doing it anyways. He found that thinking gave him a sense of comfort, which gave him a smidge of relief from what he started to experience yesterday.

The brain, he knew, was a major muscle that gave the body commands. All of the nerves were connected to it; if pain was felt, a signal was sent to the brain, which would issue out a command for the one who owned the body to either voice it or react in a certain way to what was being experienced. If the arms or legs moved, it was because the brain told them to. If a muscle was used, it was because the brain told the body part that it was on to move so it could be used in the way that it needed to be used in. The sight of things triggered the brain to work, so, if one came upon a snake, or some other animal that might mean him or her harm, they'd be able to get out of the way and fast.

The brain was a very important organ to the body, which was why one had to be careful in protecting it. Without the brain, mobility, and the sense of feeling, couldn't be achieved... You were pretty much a vegetable without it. While the heart and lungs were also important, the brain was the most important thing that one possessed. And, like any other muscle group that was in/on a body, it grew with the knowledge that it was fed.

His brain, which aided him in his primary educations, and through a further two hundred years of normal college courses, almost felt like it wanted to explode from his head. He had never had a headache of this severity before and, honestly, he didn't know of anyone who had one like this before either. The headache wasn't this bad when he woke up yesterday, but it sure grew in the time that lapsed since then. It was said that the act of rubbing the temples of your head aided in the release of the pressure that was caused by a headache; he had done this for nearly twenty-four hours and, so far, no go on getting any relief from what he felt. He was also taking a lot of medicine; like with the temple rubbing, the medicine wasn't helping either. It was only the act of his thinking that he was getting a little bit of relief.

"Think Mr. Obeah will understand why I'm not able to come in today." Khabok remembered thinking that morning. Unlike yesterday, where he went to work then managed to get in a few hours before deciding to go home, he decided to stay home today. Mr. Rezeekeo Obeah had looked a little ill yesterday, but he managed to bull his way through to the final hour of the workday; he was quite surprised to hear that even he called in sick that morning.

Unlike his brother, who once broke his nose after he beat him in doing some cartwheels, he wasn't one who liked to push himself but so hard when health matters arose to slow him down. He'd take the medicine that one would take to quell them matters, but he plain refused to hurt himself by pushing himself to do something that he wasn't physically, or mentally, able to do. He and Lorboriann were two very different individuals; Lorboriann, four hundred years older than he, was what their father called a natural born leader, while he, who was a bit more heavier bodied, and a little more calmer and lenient towards others, was called a follower. Their father was quite open in saying that Lorboriann was the healthier of his sons, and that he showed his true self by pushing himself to do things even when something threatened to get him down. He also said that he, the younger brother, had made not nearly the same effort.

Despite the boasting, and ever present favoritism that he harbored towards Lorboriann, the man showed them equal love and attention. Due to his profession of being a Pharmacist, he was tough on them about personal hygiene, proper consumption of food and drink, and body maintenance; since Lorboriann was as thin as a rail during his childhood, he was allowed to skip the lectures that their father gave them on these matters. He, his chubbiness, and tendency to slip certain foods to his room so he could snack in private, had heard more than enough lectures on why one should keep themselves in good shape. Despite their father's tough aspects on personal hygiene, and what one in their family could and couldn't eat, and body maintenance, he and Lorboriann had a very normal childhood, full of all the things that a child should have. It really shouldn't of been but such a surprise that Lorboriann turned to being who he became after becoming a grown man; he had seen the signs of what he would become very early on in his teenage years.

The act of pushing himself to do things even when something tried to keep him down was very noticeable as a child. This grew to a particularly unnatural level after he reached his teen years. Lorboriann, who never had the best of temper, or patience, had tried to do everything that was given to him by the books after reaching eleven hundred years of age; he once tried to get one of his teachers to give him a less than sufficient grade on a science fair project after he discovered that Sayvis, the smaller of the three moons that orbited Gamma Vile, was older than Trarth and Allara. When the teacher refused to do as he asked of her, he got mad—which garnered him one his few given detentions. When someone did something better than Lorboriann, he also got mad—his nose being broke when he was seven hundred and nine was a good example of this. Lorboriann, and two of his friends, were holding a cartwheel competition at the time; he had weaseled himself in on the competition and, wouldn't you know it, managed to beat all three by doing three, back-to-back cartwheels. Lorboriann had blown his top after he bested them; their father was quite hard on him after coming home to discover him holding a bloody towel to his face.

His brother's action of pushing himself to do things when his physical or mental self was already in a stressed state, and trying to do things better than anyone else, had gotten him into a bit of hot water one day when he was in his late-teens. While he wasn't there to see it happen, Lorboriann's friends were. The event was quite gruesome... He was more than a little surprised that his brother managed to come out of it with anything remaining intact below the belt. One of Lorboriann's friends had managed to sneak a grenade from his father's closet; he was showing it off when the idea of their using it as a throwing implement in a sort of throwing contest came to him. Lorboriann's friends had managed to throw it with no trouble, while Lorboriann didn't have the same success.

From what he was told, one of Lorboriann's friends threw it down in a celebratory way after passing the mark that the other friend made when he threw it. The grenade, which was said to be nothing but a dupe, had bounced from the ground a few times before coming in contact with his brother's left leg. A small explosion happened, which caused a good many of burns and open cuts to appear on his brother's inner and outer leg; Lorboriann was carted to the hospital, treated for them injuries, then left alone, which turned to being the wrong thing to do. Gangrene had set in almost overnight; while it wasn't bad on his leg, it was bad on his groin. The infection on his brother's leg was treated with a cocktail of medicine, while the one that settled on his groin was only able to be half-treated with medicine. Lorboriann, at just two thousand, nine hundred, and sixty-two years of age, was forced to endure a surgery that cost him one of his testicles. It took all of four months before his brother was allowed to leave the hospital; upon his exit, a change in his disposition was noticed. Lorboriann, who was always on the bitter side, had turned to becoming even more bitter after having one of his testicles removed. He dropped his friends, put full blame on them for what happened, then shut himself off to nearly everyone that he either knew or came in contact with.

After reaching adulthood, then moving out from the family home, he became rather elusive. No one heard a thing from him for nearly three thousand years. By the time someone managed to track him down, he managed to come to half-terms with what happened to him. Lorboriann, who wanted to follow in their father's footsteps in becoming someone who helped others who had medical problems, had made the decision to drop that desire sometime after being discharged from the hospital; he became a man who counted and handled money for a living during the days that he was elusive.

"Up to his surprising death yesterday, he was still working as a money-man." Khabok said as he tried to make himself a cup of tea.

He was just coming-to from a nap when the phone went off. A nurse was on the other end; she just called him to tell him about his brother's passing. Apparently, the stuck-up woman that Lorboriann married came home to find his brother's body all stretched out in the bathroom that was next to their bedroom. While the details were sketchy, he did manage to discover that Amjufaria screamed herself raw before one of the neighbors came in to see what was up. The man was just leading his sister-in-law downstairs when two more neighbors came in to see what was going on; one of them placed a call to Wymun Hospital while the other went up to see what Amjufaria was blubbering about. Lorboriann must of been dead for a while, because rigor mortis had already set in when the neighbor saw him. This kind soul was pleasant enough to grab a blanket from one of the house's closets then drape it over his brother; when the ambulance arrived, his brother was placed in a black bag then driven off to where it needed to go. Amjufaria was questioned before being left alone; as he expected, no call or word from her had come to him.

Even though Lorboriann had a bad temper, and bitter take on life, and was a bit of a difficult man to be around, he did stay in contact with him after his elusiveness came to a close. It was, more or less, his brother's wife who forged the bridge that appeared between them. To him, Amjufaria was both a perfect and wrong match for his brother; in his eye, Amjufaria was the cause of his brother's already unfavorable attitude on life becoming worse—even from their first meeting, he noticed that she had a most distasteful disposition to her. Amjufaria was overly tough on folk; she seemed to think that anything colorful, or fun or entertaining, was wrong; and she was too controlling—this last fact must of hit it off well with his brother, who was also of the overly controlling sort. After Amjufaria came into the picture, almost all contact with his brother ceased; an occasional letter in the mail, and a once-yearly phone call, started happening almost immediately after the two met one another. This infrequent contact had ceased all together after he finally came out of the box about how the two treated their daughters.

Gaazikia had managed to leave in the dead of night by stealing from her bedroom window. A pillowcase full of clothes was the only thing that she took with her. Unlike Amjufaria, who was fast in disowning her daughter, Lorboriann didn't have the heart to do so. Despite his overly controlling ways, he loved his daughters, and looked after them as a father should. Unfortunately, it was the overly controlling antics of the two that drove their oldest daughter from the house; Gaazikia had made the decision to move to pursue the life that she wanted to have since her early teens. This event must of had a profound effect on the two because, after their youngest daughter was born, they upped their efforts in being even more controlling.

Unlike Gaazikia, who was a full-fledged adult at the time of her leaving the nest, and was half-firm on the decisions that her parents allowed her to do, Egla was quite vulnerable and nervous. After finally being allowed to see and speak with this niece of his, he learned this quick. Egla, for the most part, was born and then placed in a box that had a highly sensitive security system to it—she, and everything that she did, was monitored. Her parents only allowed her to have two or three friends; she wasn't allowed to attend the full tenure in an actual educational facility; she wasn't allowed to go to church, or be involved in anything that involved church; and she wasn't allowed to drive or even get a learner's permit when that time came around. Egla, though disclosing her feelings of loving her parents, had admitted to not being as brave in trying to get them to back off so she could live the life that one of her generation was allowed to have. If not for the sudden rebellion that came over her, she wouldn't of gotten the job at that restaurant, or met the man that would aid her in giving her her wings, or been able to get free from her parents' overly controlling ways.

"I owe the sudden strength that entered me thanks for what I have now," his niece said after breaking free of her parents' control. "If not for it, I'd still be going by their strict schedule that mostly catered to their interests and benefits. If not for me being so intent on getting that job at Ghuzni's, I wouldn't of met Shaam... I wouldn't be as happy as I am now if not for what entered me."

"Good girl," Khabok said as he placed his cup of barely touched Blue Tea on the table before him. "The rebellion was long overdue in reaching you; instead of using it to act out in a normal way, you used it, and your smarts, to achieve what you wanted—your freedom."

The brown hickory table, that his cup of barely touched tea was on, started spinning. He was treated to feeling his head go round and round as he took in the colors of the wood swirling before him. After nearly five minutes of watching the colors swirl, he blinked his eyes. To his extreme surprise, all color in the room disappeared after he did this. The green linoleum, that was on the floor; the dark green paint, that was on the walls and ceiling; the colors of the hickory wood table... everything was now in hues of gray. He blinked his eyes a few more times, hoping that it was just a hallucination, or effect from his headache, before realizing that it was permanent. His headache, he believed, had caused his ability to see colors to disappear; he hoped that it was temporary... That, once his headache went away, and he had a more than decent amount of sleep, everything would go back to normal.

"You're a fine man, and more than lucky to have my niece on your arm." Khabok suddenly remembered saying to his youngest niece's fiancé.

"Thank you, you're much too kind." his niece's fiancé's words echoed in his head.

"You approve of him! You, my brother, Mr. Hot-Shot-Marketing-Representative for Yudgor and Co., approve of my daughter dating, and possibly marrying, that fool?" it almost seemed like his brother's words were echoing around him.

He shook his head... Trying to rid himself of the echo-like voices, and of the fiery conversation that happened between he and Lorboriann after he made the trek to Mr. Surfeit's residence to see his young and newly made free niece. Mr. Surfeit, while rich and powerful, and of a family that boasts folk who conquer other worlds, was a very polite man. He was very impressed with him. Lorboriann, who showed up out of the blue with his wife, wasn't very happy in finding where he lay on the situation with the two, and he was definitely not happy after learning that he approved of Mr. Surfeit being Egla's fella. Despite the vast difference in age, and height, he saw the pairing as a good one; Egla, who wasn't of age to move out, much less gain the ring of a man on her finger, had done good in finding Shaam and in deciding to be with him. He had nothing bad to say of the couple.

He struggled to his feet then staggered towards the apartment's living room. With his head throbbing like it was, and his stomach suddenly starting to act a bit queasy, he decided that drinking tea was a bad thing to do. What he needed was the couch. Put his feet up, close his eyes, go to sleep for a few hours, then try to take a shower before trying to take something down.

"Timber," Khabok thought as he collapsed over the arm of the blue microfiber couch that was in the room's center.

He curled up, closed his eyes, then remained perfectly still. It took him a considerable amount of time before finally slipping into sleep, which didn't seem to last very long. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the hands of the round clock, that sat over the living room doorway, were pointed at the 12 and 6 numbers—two hours had passed since he made himself a cup of Blue Tea, and then crashed over the arm of the couch... He wondered for all of two minutes where the time went before pushing himself up from the couch. It was the act of his pushing himself up that he noticed his arms were marked with a series of bruises and rashes. He looked at these many items for a few minutes before getting up to use the bathroom; the process of removing his clothes caused him to feel a bit of alarm—his legs were sporting the same thing on them!

"Thanks to your head hurting you, you've been sweating. Your skin's just reacting to the sweat, that's all." Khabok said as he got in the shower.

The shower was only four minutes in the making before he stepped out. Instead of getting relief from it, he felt pain. Some of the rashes had opened during the process of his trying to clean his body of the sweat that was on it, and most of the bruises had grown in size after the water hit him. He dabbed his body with a soft towel, then wrapped the towel around himself, then left the room; he went to the room that he and his fiancée, a lovely gal by the name of Glehalie Raptzuma, slept and did their usual bed-antics in after leaving the bathroom. His strength, he was surprised to note, had dropped to half of what he usually had.

"Cause you're sick," he thought as he went into the larger of the apartment's two bedrooms. "One's strength is usually the first to drop when an illness happens. It's normal. Perfectly normal."

A pair of boxer shorts, a pair of sweat pants, then a t-shirt were taken from the white oak dresser that he and Glehalie used to store their clothes in. He donned these items then went to the bed; unlike the first time, where he slept for an unknown amount of time, he knew how long he was asleep on this occurrence. The two-bell alarm clock, that was on the medium-brown walnut bedside table, said 1:30 when his eyes opened. An hour had passed since he got into bed. Even though the ache in his head wasn't as bad as it was before he came upstairs, he stayed where he was for another five minutes before getting up; an alarming new symptom to what he called an early-winter cold started when he started to get up from bed.

The cough was both dry and wet. His chest started hurting almost immediately after the first dozen coughs were emitted. It was only when he brought his hands to his face, to cover his mouth, so that any of the germs that he was coughing up wouldn't be allowed to float around the room freely, that he started to get scared of what was going on with him. His dark orange blood was coughed into the palms of his hands; it was very watery, and had a sort of smell to it that wasn't normal. After seeing the blood, he stood then went towards the phone. Coughing up one's blood was never good; he best get himself to a doctor before anything else happened.

He had only just started towards the room's phone when the strength in his legs was zapped away. He fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes... the protuberance that he had yet to discover, which was on the flap of skin that connected the neck to the shoulders, exploded once his body struck the floor. While phenomenally scared of seeing his blood pour from his body, he found himself unable to do anything. With his energy being so low, he did nothing but lie on the floor; for all of five minutes, his blood soiled the carpet around him. He was treated to believing that he was swimming in a pool of dark orange water before losing consciousness.

It wasn't until two hours later that his fiancée walked in on his floor-bound body. The screams that came out of her alerted the entire neighborhood to his demise.

November 25, 12:30 a.m.; the Peuvoo residence

The signs of their illness were noticed three days ago, but none of them stayed home or in bed. It wasn't as bad as it was now; they managed to down the medicine that they had before heading off to do their usual.

Mozlik, her husband of six thousand, five hundred, and fifty-one years, had continued to go the packing firm while two of their three children continued to go to school. Tuukaas, the youngest of their children, had spent a few hours playing with his toys, and asking just about any question that popped into his head, before crashing for his afternoon nap. Jabadearie and Sildaeha got a snack, then did their homework, after coming home from school. Jabadearie, the oldest of their children, who happened to be one thousand, nine hundred, and thirty, had done her usual after doing her homework in using the phone to call some of her friends while Sildaeha, who was no more than seven hundred and thirteen, grabbed a game from the living room cupboard to play after finishing hers.

General house maintenance was done. Clothes were washed, dried, and then folded and taken to their respective rooms. Lunch for her and Tuukaas was made and then consumed. She did some sewing, and then yard work. Supper was made. Mozlik came home, and their children did their usual in jumping at him after he stepped in the door. Supper was eaten. A few tv shows were watched and then discussed. Then they went to bed. The same routine was repeated the following day while, on the next, with everyone being so sick, she made the decision to keep everyone at home and in bed. No one made any fuss over doing this; everyone just rolled over to their sides.

"Hello? Is this the number for the Peuvoo family?" Gaazikia remembered the man who called three days ago asking after she answered the phone.

"Yes." she replied.

"Is one by the name of Gaazikia Peuvoo available?" the man asked. "It's right important that I speak with Mrs. Peuvoo."

"You're speaking with her." she remembered saying.

As she lay on the bed that she and her husband used to sleep in, she remembered the call that she took at ten o'clock on November the twenty-secondth. A man from the Peseta town morgue was on the other end; he gave her some news that she didn't really show much emotion towards. Her father, the bastard who tried to prevent her from having a normal childhood, was discovered in the upstairs bathroom of his and his wife's house at a little over seven o'clock on the day that the call was placed. Her overly repressive mother was the one behind the discovery; would she be able to come and comfort her overly emotional mother, and be available to be reached at the time of the funeral's proceedings? After a few minutes of consideration, she told the man that she wouldn't be able to do neither.

"My parents and I don't speak or see each other anymore—personal issues, you know." she relayed to the one who had an unspeakable position to do in tending to the bodies of the dead, and telling unsuspecting people that their loved ones had died.

"I understand, ma'am. The purpose for your absence in this matter is yours and only yours to know." the man said. "I just thought I'd call to let you know of what happened, that way you don't have to find it out through a newspaper obituary."

"Thank you, you're much too kind." she said. "Your call is much appreciated."

Unlike her dearly missed younger sister, who continued loving and having their parents around her after leaving the roost, she did the most she could in putting as much distance between her and them as she could. While her father was a bit more lenient, and tender, towards her, her interests, and needs, her mother had just plain refused to bow down to let her be herself. Even though she knew that she fell ill at sometime in the day or night, Mother would force her from bed to get ready for school; Father would, at least, check her over before making any decisions on whether she was to attend that day's session at school. Mother would be hard and rough during the treatment of certain injuries; while Father would be tender and caring before the treating started, he'd turn to being half-hard and harsh during the medicating and then wrapping. While both of her parents were right forceful on her when it came to eating the near-nightly meals of red cabbage, steamed carrots, and bologna, her father was a bit lenient in letting her skip on consuming the cabbage—an action that Mother would snap at him for. It was bed at seven o'clock; if she was caught being up, or awake, after that hour struck, she was in trouble. Father had once spanked her so hard for being up past bedtime that she wasn't able to lie on her back without experiencing pain.

Mother and Father were even more strict with her when she reached her teen years. Certain items that she was given by family members—makeup, dresses or other feminine wear, perfumes, and the such—would all be gathered and then discarded or destroyed soon after the ones that came over left. Certain chores were given to her that would keep her busy almost from the time she came home from school to when she went to bed. She wasn't allowed to play sports, or do any of the activities that her school made available to its students. The material that she sat to read had to be approved by Mother and then Father before being allowed to be opened and then read. The programs that she watched on the tele had to be approved by Mother, and then Father, before being allowed to be watched. While she was allowed to have friends, she wasn't allowed to have them over for a visit, or go over to their place to see them; most of the time, she and her friends hung out during the hours that they were in school. The time that she spent in using the phone was heavily monitored... they just plain refused to let her do the things that a normal teenager would do.

The strength of their control over her was increased when she reached her adult years. By way of her bedroom window, she escaped them and their ways of control. The rest of her life, following that night of leaving the nest, were smooth and quite pleasant.

Folk of both agreeable and disagreeable character were met. More than two men were dated, and two marriage proposals were made before being dropped. Job applications were done and then sent in. Jobs were gone to. Apartments were rented and lived in for stretches of weeks, months, and sometimes years. Money that she earned was spent on things that she and only she liked. Food that she and only she wanted to eat was consumed. She went to bed whenever she wanted to. She befriended and spent time with people... The best part of her leaving the roost happened after she met her husband. Mozlik had also come from a similar environment, so he knew what she went through and, furthermore, what she felt after finally scrounging up the courage to leave the place that she was trapped in. Much like her sister's fiancé, Father didn't like Mozlik. He said that he was soft, and that he'd not do anything but bring her down when, in reality, he brought her up in life.

"Let his words, and actions, go through one ear, and eye, and out the other." she remembered Mozlik saying on the day following the chance encounter that they and her father had. "He's just afraid that you'll have a better, and happier, life than he."

Her husband was stirring from his spot when she was turning to gain a little bit of his warmth, and comfort from the ache that started in her head, which spread to the rest of her body in a little over twenty-four hours. Mozlik stood, then staggered from the room. He went to the bathroom that was at the end of the hall; the sounds of one getting sick, and then moaning in disgust, were heard for a few minutes before quiet settled in the house. She lay where she was for a few minutes before rolling over to occupy the spot that her husband was lying on. While the warmth that he made to it was still there, she was shocked over how little of his presence she felt. For no reason at all, she started to cry. Thoughts of what she'd do if her husband left her were thought; mental images of Mozlik leaving her flooded her mind for nearly five minutes before she pushed them, and the thoughts that preceded them, away.

"Mozlik is to me like Shaam was to Egla—we love each other so much that the thought of being away from one another causes momentary physical, emotional, and mental illness in us." Gaazikia thought.

Egla, who was born nearly two thousand years after her, had met one fine doll of a man who did more than treat her right. Mr. Surfeit had treated her sister like a Princess. Along with letting her speak her mind on things, and be the woman that she was meant to be, and indulge in acts that their parents would never of allowed her to do, he was there as a support system for when things tried to bog her down. Even though Egla wasn't one for over-spending during her shopping trips, Shaam made sure that she had more than enough to spend when she went to the stores that she was most favoring towards. Mr. Surfeit, and his family, were the very thing that her sister needed—after finally getting the courage to leave home for good, Egla found herself surrounded by a bunch of people who acted like a second family to her. The Surfeit's were a very close-knit clan, and seemed to look after their own very well.

Unlike Mother and Father, who jumped on Mr. Surfeit after being told about Egla's unfortunate passing, she grieved and offered him her condolences. Her sister, who was having so much trouble in having children with the man that she fell so madly in love with, had passed away two weeks after giving birth to her only surviving child; Mr. Surfeit, from what she was told, was most inconsolerable after the passing... He actually came to start thinking that he lost both Egla and their newborn baby after she died, his grief was that bad. Only after finding that Little Duru survived the birth, and was still alive, did he come out of his slump. The last picture that she received of her nephew had shown a perfectly happy toddler, who seemed to be right attached to his daddy. Egla would be more than proud to know that the two were faring as well as they were.

While she hadn't yet seen her nephew—the district that she and her family lived in was a distance from the one that Mr. Surfeit and his son called home—, she was happy to know that he was in a good growing environment, full of people who loved and cared for him and who wouldn't dare lay a wrong hand, or say a hurtful word to him.

"Mozlik?" Gaazikia said when fifteen minutes passed after her husband went off to the bathroom.

It took her another fifteen minutes to gain the little strength that she had in her to get up from the bed, which seemed to of gotten very cold in the time that her husband was away. The room swam before her as she struggled to exit it. The vanity, along with its mirror, was overturned; the perfume bottles and makeup containers that were on it flew all over the place after it was pulled from its place against the wall. The glass of the mirror shattered after colliding with the floor; when she tripped a few seconds after tipping the vanity over, her hands, knees, and feet got cut on the glass that was on the floor. She crawled along for all of two minutes before regaining her footing; while the exit of the bedroom was sloppy, she found that her balance was so horrible that she had to lean against the wall after leaving it.

"Hello, who's this?" Gaazikia remembered saying after answering the phone that was in the kitchen. She had just gotten through making lunch for her and Tuukaas when it went off; after setting Tuukaas's meal before him, she went to answer the phone.

"Hello, if this is the household that's listed on my contact sheet, then I have most unfortunate news to pass on. Does the number that I called belong to the Peuvoo family?" a man, who seemed to be in a big hurry, said.

"It does, yes." she replied. "Who's this? What do you want?"

"My name's Bonepor Hurwi, ma'am. I work at the Obaflort town morgue." the man returned. The pit of her stomach went cold; she remembered having a difficult time in keeping her legs from folding on her.

"Wh... what do you want?" she remembered asking.

"To tell you that your uncle, Khabok Nulwin Shaar, passed away yesterday."

As she struggled along, she kept one hand fast to the wall and the other held out—her vision, which had never been very good, had suddenly gone out on her. If she wasn't feeling this strain of stress on her about what her husband was doing, she would of slowed down long enough to grab her glasses from the dresser that they used for their clothing.

A sort of bond had formed between her and her uncle right after they met for the first time. Uncle Khabok was such a nice man, and so unlike her father. She had actually asked the man if he and her father weren't related, they were that different from one another. Her uncle had confirmed his paternal link with her father by word of mouth, then by sending her a small parcel that contained the documents that were known on their family; with her uncle's personality being what it was, and with his having mid-long, orange-brown hair, and being somewhere over fifty or so pounds heavier than her father, he definitely didn't look like her father. According to Mr. Hurwi, her uncle was found by his fiancée; rigor mortis was in the process of claiming his body when he was discovered. Her uncle's fiancée wasn't able to be reached. Even though she placed two messages to the answering machine, no calls from her were received.

Since her uncle was two days deceased, she understood the lack of communication that happened between her and Glehalie. The woman was in the grieving process; it was best to leave her be.

"Mozlik?" Gaazikia said after reaching the halfway mark between her and her husband's bedroom and the bathroom that her husband disappeared to.

Flashes of past events, and memories, happened after she went past the room that her daughters were in. She remembered her mother dragging her down the stairs one morning, after getting her, who was very feverish, and pleading and insisting on wanting to stay home, out of bed for school. Mother had just come in then said for her to get ready for school; upon coming back to the room, and seeing that she had yet to get out of bed, the woman got mean. She was ripped from her bed, her school clothes were thrown on her, then she was forced to brush her teeth, and throw some water on her face. Her cheek was then assaulted. Father had already shoved off for work, so she didn't have any protection from the woman. A deep bruise had formed on her wrist during her tenure at school that day; she had forced herself to stay in the building—better to do that than to be sent home, where her mother would surely abuse her for her inability to "tough" it out.

She remembered talking to her parents about wanting to get a kitten for her birthday. Father, who was "deathly" allergic to the animals, had said no very quickly while Mother said nothing at all. When the subject of getting a dog came up, Mother snapped at her. No flea-bag in the house, Mother said; no hair throwing, drooling, flea-carrying animal will ever be allowed to enter this house. The attempt to keep the little rodent that she found in the school hallway one day wasn't met with success—Mr. Whiskers lived in a box, in her room, under her bed, for nearly two weeks before Father discovered him. The man was quick in killing the poor creature; no sympathy towards her, the owner of the animal, was shown by either parent.

"What're you all dressed up for?" she remembered her father saying after she came down wearing a blue and green dress that came to just below her knees. A friend of hers was kind enough to loan her the outfit that she put on that night... She was hoping to sneak past her parents; a school dance was being done and she wanted to attend it. While Mother was in the kitchen, making the usual meal of red cabbage, carrots, and bologna, Father was in the living room; there was no way to escape them.

"For a dance," she said. Instead of heading upstairs, to remove all of what she was wearing, she went towards the door. Father had met her there. His hand had grabbed, and then squeezed, her shoulder; his eyes were glazed and ugly to look at, and his mouth was set in an angry sneer.

"Don't think so, Missy. Upstairs. Remove everything then go to bed." he said.

"No," she returned.

"Excuse me? Did my ears just hear what you just said?" she remembered her father asking. After a few seconds of silence fell between them, his hand fell from her shoulder; her cheek was assaulted, then she was thrown from the door. "Whore's attend them things. Whore's wear things like what you're wearing. I won't have any whore's living under my roof—head upstairs and do what I told you to, now."

A minor fight happened. Father was thrown to the wall, then the door was ripped open and she was running. Father had come out a few seconds later; a scream for her to return to the house was heard before the sound of car keys being jingled reached her ears. While she managed to reach the dance, she was much too traumatized to join in on the fun or mingle with her friends. Two days of staying with a friend of hers had happened before the decision to go home was made. As expected, Mother and Father weren't easy on her after she stepped in the door. The threat of being home-schooled for the rest of her educating years was made before she was sent to her room.

"Isn't he cute?" she remembered her sister saying. Mr. Surfeit, no more than two days after placing the proposal ring on her sister's finger, went out to get Egla a little Yukeshire Terrier puppy as a gift. Egla had doted on that dog, which she named Yodie; she had treated that dog, which was the first animal that she had ever been given as a pet, almost like it was a child. About two weeks after being given the dog, Mr. Surfeit took Egla to the Administrative Building of Motor Vehicles; Egla, who was studying for nearly a week to get her driver's license, had passed the test with flying colors. Her sister, and her cute, little puppy, had taken one of Mr. Surfeit's cars out for a spin two days later; her residence was their destination. Her sister was so proud of herself for getting her license, and was so happy over that puppy.

Mr. Surfeit's gifts didn't stop at Yodie. Egla also got two Beedleton Terriers, which she promptly named Vontu and Valinta, and a good many of jeweled items. Since he was of the male gender, and only half-aware of what his new fiancée's clothing tastes were, he let Egla do her own clothing shopping. For the first ten years of the engagement, Egla had used her fiancé's cars to get from place to place; a fairly expensive, Ferra 250 Spydino was purchased as an anniversary gift and then given to her on the morning of their eleventh year of being a couple. While Egla voiced her concern over Mr. Surfeit spending so much on her—her sister was a humble creature by habit, after all—she accepted all of what he got for her. Mr. Surfeit had shown her so much love, so it was no shock that the two were as close as they were.

"It was a girl! Ma, you hear me? Gaazie and I had a baby girl!" she remembered Mozlik saying not in disappointment but utter pride after their oldest daughter was born. Right after the baby was born, Mozlik went for the nearest phone; his mother was called and then given the news on their having a baby. "She has a mild deformity to her leg, but she came out as healthy as can be."

Jabadearie, who was draped over the side of her bed, and taking in her last breath, was born with a gimp to her left leg, which required a brace to keep straight. Mozlik didn't care about what the gender of their children were; all he concerned himself with was their health and happiness. Mozlik didn't put much mind in on the deformity, or blame her for it, nor did he think about their daughter needing a brace to keep her leg straight. Sildaeha, who was just now in the process of rolling over to her side for the last time, was born a little earlier than expected but she was fine; Mozlik and she had breathed sighs of relief after the tests came back saying that she didn't breathe in any meconium—Sildaeha had taken a poo just before being born, and they were worried that she took some of it in. Tuukaas, who was digging at the rashes that were on his arms, legs, and stomach, was a surprise baby to them. They didn't expect for him to be concieved. Like with Jabadearie and Sildaeha, they welcomed him into their family warmly; Mozlik was so proud... after getting Tuukaas home, he took the family out for a little stroll of the neighbor, just to show their new addition off.

"Moz—" her balance failed her. She fell to the floor with a thud.

Instead of getting back to her feet, she crawled along as best she could towards the room that she wanted to go to. Her strength, she discovered, was now next to nothing, so she wouldn't of been able to get to her feet anyways. She crawled along the floor for, what she believed, a long time before finally forcing herself to stop. Her four foot, nine and a half inch body was drenched in sweat from head to foot; when a little bit of her vision returned to her, she saw that she had a lot of bruises and rashes on her arms, legs, and shoulders; her legs were swollen to nearly twice their size... She took this in quickly then, after mustering the final bit of strength that she had to her, stood up. Her figure, which was close to weighing a hundred and ten pounds, was thrown forward as she ran towards the bathroom door, which gave way almost immediately after she collided with it. If not for grabbing the doorframe, she would of fallen flat against the bathroom linoleum.

"M-M-M-Mozlik!" Gazikia screamed after seeing what lie in the room that she just barged into.

Her husband, a man of the Goteian species, who stood six feet tall, had pitch black fur, and the deepest of brown eyes, was lying on his side on the floor. Most of the floor around him was soaked in his green-colored blood, while the rest had excrement on it. Her husband, who perished three hours after the alarm went off, was unmoving and unresponsive to her calls. The small, blunt-ended horns, that were on his head, had made a dent appear on the bathtub; his dark gray hooved hands looked a little lighter in color.

"Moz... lik," the strength that she managed to muster was zapped from her. She staggered forward three steps then collapsed to the floor. Right on top of her husband. She was stretching her hand towards his own when her vision went; her hand had just settled over his when she fell into the void of unconsciousness that she'd not wake from. Her last breath was taken at the same time that Sildaeha fell into her final sleep. Tuukaas, who was no more than three hundred and six years of age, collapsed two minutes after puncturing the protuberance that lie on the left side of his small neck; he'd join her, her husband, and his two siblings in Paradise soon after doing this.

November 28, 7:55 p.m.; en-route to Galocnu Hospital

Her car caused mud to fly as she sped through a stretch of road that was mud-logged. It rained a lot in the Naavu district in the last few days and, as of the last couple of hours, a fierce wind had blown, which caused a lot of the ground to be evicted from where it was. While she wanted to get to the hospital fast, so she could comfort her child, who suddenly collapsed after consuming half of the meal that Niijika made for them, she didn't want to be in any accidents. Her heart was pounding away in her narrow and nearly flat chest—she couldn't believe what happened! Laquanil, the child that she and her partner took on as their own nearly six hundred and fifty years ago, was perfectly fine. Though complaining of a headache, and being weak from the cold that came over him, he was fine... there was no explanation for why he collapsed.

"Uhhh, Nonnie, I don't _feel_ so good." AxtegaeVile remembered her child saying before collapsing. She remembered it well; her son's pale blue face, which had a ring of dark blue fur around it, went an ashy-white color before his solid blue eyes turned up into his head. The one that he was talking to, which was Niijika, was two steps from him, so she was able to catch him after he fell from the stool that he was sitting on. The call to Galocnu was quickly done, then Laquanil was rushed to the ambulance, which sped away before she or her partner could jump in.

While they could of jumped into her car, then gone to the hospital together, they didn't do so. Niijika was too fast in getting in her car, then speeding off, for her to make the suggestion.

When she woke up four days ago, she found herself drenched in sweat and shivering from head to foot. The bug, that she thought came from her and her family's systems not being ready for the sudden change in the weather, had her in its clutches. Niijika had complained of feeling fatigue, and of her abdomen hurting, while Laquanil plain refused to get out of bed. Like with the Peuvoo family, who were maritally related to her nephew, and were deceased for all of three days, she and her family remained in bed. The first two days were horrible, while the following two were a little more comfortable; with their feeling a little better that evening, Niijika made the decision to make up a pot of tea and cook up a small meal—something that'd aid them in getting their strength back.

"Herbal tea will do us wonders," her companion of seventy thousand years said. "That and cheese-filled dumplings will give us the extra kick that we need to get over what we've attracted."

Very little was said by Laquanil after the beverage and meal were mentioned. He just nodded his head after hearing what was being made. She, in contrast to her son, had said _that's fine_ in regards to what was being made. She and Laquanil just sat at the table while Niijika worked the stove; not much was said between them, which was strange, since Laquanil was a right talkative thing.

Though not very big now, Laquanil was an extraordinarily big baby. Upon finally seeing, and then adopting, the child, she and Niijika had said that he looked more of the Hyponu race than of the Lyontius race, which was what was on his papers. She and Niijika had been on the waiting list for nearly fifty years; they were more than thrilled when the call came in about a child being found that was both available for adoption and who's parents had similar dispositions to their own.

The extra room in their three-bedroom apartment was half-set up for the child. The crib, a gradient piece that Raal was fast in calling more a cage than a crib, was put in the far left corner of the room while the old toy chest, and white oak dresser, were positioned across from it. Due to Niijika's enrollment at school, which ate up most of the extra cash that they made, they weren't able to get a changing table, wicker basket for used diapers and wipes, shelves for the walls, or rug—a "modest" gift from Rosol had made it possible for the room to have them in it. Rosol, who was far more richer than she had ever figured he'd be, was quite firm on her and her partner about their not worrying about paying him back. Raal and she did the work in getting the room painted for the baby, while Saroka gave them some help in purchasing the baby bottles, baby monitors, diapers and other sanitary items, and some of the toys. Trobrencus had made the final contribution by purchasing the room's rocking chair, the high chair for the kitchen, a car seat for both of their cars, the playpen for the living room, and the rocking horse. The room was set and ready for a child, who eluded them for forty-nine years and ten months before the big blessing that was Laquanil was found and then given to them.

"And here I thought Shaam was the biggest baby I'd ever seen," RaalVile said about two weeks after Laquanil was brought home.

"I estimate him at being around fourteen or fifteen pounds—whoever birthed him must of had a time!" RosolVile said of her and Niijika's newly adopted son.

Instead of saying anything about their son, Trobrencus just whistled. His eyes just bugged from his head then a long, drawn-out whistle was heard, which caused everyone to laugh themselves silly. She and Niijika laughed, then kidded the man around by saying that they'd try their best to steer their son from being an Uncle Beater. Up to now, the six hundred and forty-eight years and eight months that Laquanil was theirs was full of good memories and happy moments.

"With what we've experienced this year, I'm not surprised that cooler weather set in as fast as it did." AxtegaeVile remembered Niijika saying while preparing the pot for her tea. "I'm also not surprised that we came down with what we have—we've been out and about in the warmth all summer long; our systems have settled to being more accustomed to fighting off bugs that are produced by warmer weather."

Niijika had actually wanted to become a nurse. Due to heavy opposition from her college professors, fellow classmates, and siblings all saying that no one would allow her to touch them after learning what she was, she made the decision to change her college courses around—being a chef was the other career that she had an interest in, so she did the courses on how to become one.

Her partner had come from a half-supportive family. Her parents, two of her three aunts, one of her two uncles, and about half of her cousins had all accepted her orientation while the rest, her siblings included, hadn't. Niijika had two brothers and a sister, all of whom had picked on her and did the best that they could to make her feel low. Her parents were the only ones that got the three to leave her be—when they were home, that was. Niijika's father was a lawyer, and was required to be out of the house to look after his clients, and Niijika's mother was a small-town business owner who preferred to be the one who looked into her business. Her partner's siblings were most of the reason behind her leaving the family home so early—Niijika got fed up with their constant shenanigans, and orientation-prejudice talk.

Niijika did a little wandering before settling down in the town that was close to her apartment. They met one another one day when they were shopping the local grocery store for leafy vegetables, chicken slices, and croutons. The relationship started almost immediately between them; her family, her father especially, had found her quite charming very fast.

"Where do you find them, Girl?" AxtegaeVile remembered her father asking her one day a few days after Niijika was brought to his place for formal introductions. "Think she's the best of the lot that you've involved yourself with."

While rough, tough, and mean towards all of them, her father didn't show any sexual orientation qualms with any of them when it came to their dating and then bringing the ones that they became entangled with home. She liked to believe that it was the fact that his oldest brother was gay... it might of also been the fact that his second oldest brother was of the asexual orientation and his younger sister was of the Bi-sexual orientation too, but he had a good head on his shoulders when it came to folk of non-straight orientation. He showed it well with her and Trobrencus, who, back then, was leaning more towards the gay side of the Bi orientation than the straight or neutral. Grandpa Wex, who she and some of her siblings called Baba, was also open to folk of non-straight orientation; great-grandpa Lynk, who she and some of her siblings called Abbu or Poppa, on the other hand, hadn't been as open or kind towards folk who liked the ones of their gender.

Poppa had put as much distance between himself and folk who liked their own gender as he could. Upon discovering that his oldest son fathered a gay boy, a boy of asexual orientation, and a girl of Bi orientation, he demanded that all ties to them be severed. He did the same after discovering that Trobrencus and she liked their own genders. Baba plain refused to do so, which gained the wrath of his father on more than one occasion; while the two had shown decent amounts of love and respect towards one another, they also showed a lot of displeasure towards each other. It had a lot to do with how Baba was raised by Poppa, and with Baba conquering some of his father's realms; there was a lot of competition, and ill feelings, between the two that kept them from having a normal, father-son relationship.

"Daddy nearly severed ties with the man after he tried to tamper with Rosol's training sessions." AxtegaeVile thought as she fought to keep her car from spinning on the road. "After discovering that my brother could do Electromagnetic powers, and then finding that Baba took him on as a pupil, he tried to undermine the training sessions so he could gain him as his student. If not for daddy coming in on that one time where Poppa tried to hurt Rosol by shooting a red band of radiation at him, Rosol wouldn't be here today—daddy had sure been mad after seeing the man trying to hurt him... Poppa came close to losing more than six teeth on that day, and two of his six horns were split down the middle too."

The men died on the same day. Their physicians estimated that there was around two to three hours between their deaths. Baba was the first to go, then Poppa followed. While there was some tension between them, there were no signals given that either wanted to off the other—if that was desired, then one or the other would of been dead a long time ago. She was one thousand, four hundred, and two when they were found dead. Baba was lying face-down on a bowl of Mushroom soup and, most curiously, Poppa was lying beside the chair that he was sitting in—a plate of half-eaten Mushroom Masala was on the table when he was found. While her father was strong on the outside, they all knew that he was very emotionally injured after the discovery of their decease; an investigation on their deaths was done, which came back with no plausible answers on why they died in the way that they did. The cooks that the men had working for them had swore to their innocence; when questioned, it was found that the rest of their staff had nothing to do with their decease; and a set of very pleasant letters from one man to the other, spanning a length of nearly three weeks, had shown that they weren't fighting at the time. Even though poisoning was put as the cause of death on their death certificates, her father had never accepted that they were poisoned, and no evidence was found to show that they were poisoned either.

Rosol was especially shook up after they died. He spent a few hundred years living with Baba. After being kicked out of the house, then doing close to twenty years of wandering from this town to the next, he showed up at their grandfather's place to see if he'd help him in giving him some money so he wouldn't be forced to continue the panhandling lifestyle that he took on. The investigation had tried to pin blame on him, who was twenty years out of their grandfather's house, for his death. From what she was told, her brother, who was living in a small apartment, and had a small peasant's job to aid him in paying his bills, had managed to show all of his doings during the twenty years that he was on his own. Only after doing this had he been scratched from the suspect list. Her grandfather and great-grandfather were buried about nine weeks after the investigation started; quite interestingly, neither of them had decomposed in the time between their decease and the actual burial. Like with their decease, no one had an explanation on why no decomposition happened with them.

Izucklin Town Limits - 1 Mile  
Galocnu Hospital - 1.5 Miles

The road was really messy where she was. Even though she knew she should slow down, so to prevent an accident from happening, she didn't. She couldn't chance getting to the hospital late; she couldn't let the ambulance get to where it was going before her, and she couldn't let her child be carted into the hospital without her being at his side. Laquanil—who, sadly, perished while on the way to Galocnu Hospital—would be more than scared if he was taken into the hospital without his parents being there with him. The ambulance took him twenty minutes ago; there was a thirty minute drive to Izucklin, and she was trying to shorten it by at least ten minutes by speeding.

She was just driving through a puddle of water that came to nearly the undercarriage of her car when the cough began again. Unlike Niijika, who coughed for all of twelve hours before stopping, she was experiencing a prolonged cough... one that she was trying her best to keep the symptoms of from her partner. It started out normal, but it wasn't normal anymore. Her throat, and chest, felt like they were on fire; she couldn't see very well when the cough started; and it sometimes hurt to breathe. While all of that was nerve-wracking in itself, it was the final thing that made her grow uneasy.

About six hours ago, a thick and sticky, yellowish-white mucus started coming from her, followed by a greenish substance that was very watery. While she didn't know what the mucus was, she knew what the substance was—it was her blood. She was coughing up her own blood. A scary thought in itself; she was trying to think that it was just coming from her lungs and throat being so dry... she had never coughed up blood before, and she didn't really know why one coughed up blood. That was really all that she had to go by to give her some comfort in the matter of this alarming symptom. At almost the same time that the mucus and blood started coming up, her arms, legs, and stomach started forming rashes, bruises, and open sores on them. She was almost certain that these were caused by the air quality—everything was so dry... She was telling herself that her body was just reacting to how dry the air was.

She flicked her two-tone, dark gray and white hair from her face right when a sudden bout of fatigue struck her. This was another thing that she was fighting. She was very sleepy... very tired, and she didn't know why. She was sleeping at night, and she was taking more than two naps a day; she shouldn't be this tired. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sudden bout of fatigue that was threatening to come over her; the lids, that she was fighting to keep open, slid down more than twice during the final moments of her drive. They had just dropped to conceal her glowing, light blue eyes, that had an even lighter set of pupils in their centers, when the wheels of her car lost traction with the road. Her head bopped down to her chest for two seconds before jerking up again; despite being nearly asleep, she screamed right when the car flipped to its side. Her eyes were wide open for ten seconds before becoming concealed behind their lids again.

The car rolled half a dozen times before colliding with the guardrail. Metal and glass flew all around her; she was only half aware of being cut by these flying pieces when a fiery eruption happened. One of the final images that she saw was the mangled mess of the interior of her car, while the other brought forth the shocking sight of orange and red flames shooting towards her face. She felt her arms rising, and herself trying to exit the car, but she couldn't see or even tell if she was really doing these things. In the state that she was in, all she could be sure of was that she was more than a little hot.

As the heat of her body grew, and she started feeling a pained source occur around her neck, chest, stomach, and legs, she was treated to seeing an image of Niijika and Laquanil. This final image accompanied her to her death.

November 28, 8:05 p.m.; Galocnu Hospital Parking Lot

Unlike her partner, who just wrecked her car, and was burning to death, she reached the hospital that their child was sent to. Niijika was struck with automatic worry after seeing how many ambulances were in the parking lot. They were either racing in or leaving... It looked like all of the building's vehicles were being sent out or coming in. Since Niijika couldn't remember what number the ambulance that was carrying her and her partner's child was, she couldn't tell if Laquanil was at the hospital or if she beat him here.

"You can't be a nurse," the voice of Niijika's little brother rang through her ears. "Nurses are suppose to be clean. You're a lezzie—you're not clean, so you can't be a nurse."

"Who would want you, a woman who toys with cunts, working on them, or their injuries?" Niijika's older sister's voice overshadowed that of her brother's.

Axtegae had once told her that she tried to prevent her orientation from happening. After noticing the interest that she had in her own gender, her partner took to "sneaking" her older sister's porn magazines as a way to prevent it from taking hold of her. Her father had come in on her one day when she was looking at them. Instead of saying for her to put them down, and to not ever look at another again, he just stared at her in a sort of dumb shock. Axtegae had just entered her teen years, so she shouldn't of been looking at or possessing such material; instead of yelling at her, then punishing her for reading a porn magazine, her father asked her what was wrong. For the next four hundred years, Mr. Surfeit snapped at her for her attempts in trying to prevent the inevitable from happening.

In comparison, she took to her orientation very fast. Almost overnight, she believed. Her parents had given her a few looks, but they didn't persuade her from accepting what she was; it was her siblings, classmates, and teachers who gave her the most trouble. Most of her teachers were polite, but she knew that they didn't like her because of her orientation. One of her teachers actually flunked her on purpose for her interest in the female gender, and another refused to teach her; the rest went by their jobs professionally... but they did plenty of talking behind her back. She once came around the corner to hearing one of them calling her an embarrassment... and a kitty puncher.

The intention, after she graduated from high school, was to go to college to get a degree in medicine. She had worked the credits up for the courses, and she was looking forward to becoming a nurse—ever since childhood, she wanted to help others. Nurses helped people who were hurt, or sick, so, why not become one? Her parents were more than happy to hear that she wanted to be one, and were looking forward to seeing her pursue a career that would benefit not just herself but others. Her siblings, on the other hand, didn't much like the idea of their Lezzie sister going to school to become someone who worked in medicine; they said that she'd cause more harm than good, and that no one would hire her because of her orientation. She had her siblings to thank for her degree of interest being changed for something else

Instead of becoming a nurse, and helping people who were sick, or injured, she became a chef... One who had a high interest in herbal remedies, and medicine. A course was available with them two interests included; she took it and she excelled in it so, in a way, she _did_ become a sort of chef with a side-degree of medical training.

"A dash of Boldo, and a whole leaf of Kratom, should make this better than good for the whole of us." Niijika heard herself saying. She said this nearly an hour and a half ago, when she was making her family a pot of Herbal tea... She shouldn't be hearing it like she said it now, but she was.

"Anything you make is good, Niikie." she heard AxtegaeVile saying.

She made the tea, and cheese-filled dumplings, to perfection, so nothing should of happened for this to occur. Laquanil shouldn't of collapsed. He shouldn't of been sent to the hospital. He should be at home... His toys should of been strewn across the living room; his favorite tv show was on, and he should be watching it; a book, or chessboard, should of been brought out... Laquanil shouldn't be here, where the sick and injured were sent!

"My Dear," AxtegaeVile's father, who towered over both her and her partner by at least five inches, suddenly appeared in front of her. The man's passing happened nearly sixty-two thousand years ago—he should be dead... not before her like he was! The man, who was bi-colored, with his left side being dark blue and his right silver, presented his hand for her to shake; she pulled away in horror and repulsion. The man didn't react—he smiled... the scar, that ran on a slant, from under his right eye, across his lips, then on down to nearly the center of his chin, made it look like he was smiling and snarling at the same time. His arm was moved up and down—like he was actually shaking hands with someone!

"No! No, you're dead! Spli claimed you, Dear Sir!" Niijika Bitani Vaatyfiff squealed in terror. "Dear Sir, we miss you so, but you shouldn't be here! Please, go so I can head to the building behind you."

"You are a fine one. My Daughter seems to find the best of partners to be with. Welcome to the family." this man, who shouldn't be here, or be as real as he was, said to her quite pleasantly.

She took two steps back. The steel body of her light red Penoninto—a vehicle that, one day, many, many thousands of years after her death, would be acquired by the human race and then given the name of Ford Pinto—forced her to jump forward right after they were taken. The image of the man, who she knew for a stretch of nine thousand, one hundred, and ten years, disappeared after she jumped. A new image, this one of one of her former college professors, appeared in its place; thankfully, the image of this professor, who gave her so much grief over one little cooking assignment, didn't linger for long. She went forward after the image disappeared; the ambulance that was carrying her child, who was fifteen minutes deceased, was just rolling into the parking lot... while she watched the vehicle, she didn't go forward to meet it or put much thought in on remembering that her child was put in a vehicle that had the number 2-3-7 on its side and rear bumper.

"You're hallucinating!" Niijika screamed right when a doctor was turning to look at her.

"Ma'am," the doctor said. "You alright?"

"Nothing of what you've heard or seen during your drive here is real! It's all a big—"

"Nii," the voice that belonged to none other than her father... who passed away after contracting the same thing that her mother, one of her sisters, and Mr. Surfeit and his wife and all of his siblings, contracted and then died from, was heard loud and clear. "Get yourself upstairs now. It is much past your bedtime, Missy."

"Paw-paw?" she said.

"You're growing into such a lovely thing." this phantom voice said. "Where'd you get them locks of green hair? Them hypnotizing, lime-green eyes? You have your mee-maw's build but you got everything else from me, didn't you?"

"Paw-paw? Where are you? Paw-paw?" she spun around and around in circles. Searching. Looking for the source of the voice that so sounded like her father's.

The doctor, a man who had seen too many patients come through the doors of the hospital that he worked in, rushed forward when the woman that he became worried over started acting erratically. He was yelling for a gurney when she collapsed; upon reaching her side, his yelling for a gurney ceased completely. He started yelling in horror; the woman, a right pretty one, who had mid-length, light green hair and quite hypnotizing, lime-green eyes, was frothing at the mouth. She started puking up a yellowish-white, viscus-like fluid soon after the froth appeared then, not long after the liquid started coming up, a discharge of greenish-yellow blood came from her. After the discharge of blood started occurring, the woman started shaking; he was dropping to a squat when the protuberances that were on her neck, armpits, and inner and outer thighs exploded. He shrieked his last sane shriek right when the stretcher was rolled out, and then towards, him and the woman, who just died like most of the other patients that came in did.

December 1, 2:45 p.m.; RosolVile Surfeit's Place

The same thing happened when he went under the water of the faucet—his greasy, sweat-matted hair, which had grown to just past his shoulders in the fifty-two days that occurred since his wife's passing, wagged before his face as he envisioned the steam rising from his body and flooding the room that he was in. While envisioning this scene, he kept his hands flat against the porcelain siding of the back corner of the shower. His body, which felt twice the normal temperature that it should be, shuddered after the water touched it. The water, as always, gave him only a moment of relief from the heat that he was being subjected to. When the heat returned, and the water ceased to help him in keeping his temperature down, he turned it off then reached for the towel that was on the interior shower rod. After concealing his lower half, he pushed the door of the shower open; before leaving the shower, he was treated to seeing the state of his arm, and to remembering how he was when he was a child of nearly five hundred years of age.

"A child of your age should be around forty pounds, yet you're barely tipping the scales at thirty-four." RosolVile remembered his father saying to his four hundred and ninety-five year old self. "I don't understand it, Rosol. You eat as much as your brother yet you aren't gaining the weight that you should. Maybe it's time to let you over-indulge yourself? Turn the cabinets inside out. Eat whatever you want whenever you want it."

"Like peanut butter and bacon, or 'mallow cream, sandwiches?" he remembered saying. As a child, he liked them types of sandwiches. They were his favorite to consume; he could eat them all day and not grow tired of them, or their flavor.

"Anything but the sweets, stores of chocolate, and bags of sugar—you're active enough; let's not have your ass bouncing even more off the walls." his father said.

"What's azz?" RosolVile remembered asking.

"A word that will cause you to get a real hurting bottom end if I catch you saying it again." his father said.

His arm was nearly bone-like in appearance. With his usual routine having come to a stop nearly two months ago, and his metabolism being what it was, he had lost a lot of weight. As of four days ago, when he went to check into his weight, he discovered that he dropped between sixty-five and seventy-five pounds—it might be psychological, but his strength was zapped from him right after he saw his weight. Instead of leaving his physician's appointed room under his own power, he required some lean-on assistance; two hours of sitting in his office, staring at the walls, or the ceiling, had happened before enough strength entered him to enable him the ability to stand and then walk around.

Unlike his brothers, who had normal metabolisms, his metabolism made it easy for him to lose weight very fast. If he so much as stopped working out, or skipped more than two or three days worth of meals, he'd grow fatigue-ish. The strength would be zapped from him as his body went into hyper-drive to keep itself, and he, alive. His father had worried himself to death about him; as a youngster, he was told again and again to over-indulge in eating so he'd stop looking so thin. It didn't really matter what he ate—he was skinny until his mid-teenage years, then his metabolism slowed down to allow him to fill out and gain the weight that he needed. His mother had said that his metabolism came from her and her side of the family; along with having a mild form of it, she said that both of her brothers, one of her sisters, her father, and two of her uncles had it... She also said that the metabolism of two of the men didn't slow down until after they reached their early to mid-teens. While his slowed down at the time that theirs did, it didn't slow a significant amount; up to becoming a full-fledged man, he always remained a bit on the thin side.

He owed a lot to how he looked now to his near two-month routine, which was neither healthy or appropriate for him. From the time the spheres rose to when they fell, he walked a slow walk around his sprawling estate. He'd go upstairs, to either Heviha or Vataka's unoccupied bedroom chambers; he'd go into the chamber that was set-up for Sola; he'd go into the chambers that Heviha and Vataka used as infants; he'd go into the chambers that Heviha and Vataka used as toddlers; he'd go into the room that he and his wife slept in... He'd just go from one room to the other. Searching. Searching and hoping to find everyone that he lost that year inside. All safe and sound. The kids either playing with their toys or reading one of their beginner education books; Sola cooing, and wanting a diaper change, or someone to give her some attention; and his wife sewing, reading, or waiting for him to come to bed.

When he found none of his loved ones, he came downstairs then continued the walks. He'd go into all three of the pool areas; three of the four game rooms; two of the three garden areas; the larger of the three kitchens; the basement; one of the gyms; the grand room; the living room; and then, finally, the bar. A shot or two of rum, or Absinthe, would go down his throat then he'd return to walking around his home. At around midnight, he'd stop long enough to grab a banana—which he'd only eat half of before putting down—or a spoonful of peanut butter. The walks would continue for another two hours before he finally made it upstairs to the bed that was now lacking his ever-lovely wife as a secondary occupant. He'd tuck himself in, then stare at the ceiling. No sleep would come to him. He'd just stare, and think, and wonder why the hell this happened to him. Why his family—his beautiful wife, who he loved so much; his two daughters, who he adored so much; and his unborn daughter, who he was looking forward to meeting—were taken from him.

A small talk with his personal physician was done before Heviha died. He said that he should pull himself together, for both himself and his surviving daughter, who was looking to be grieving as much as he. He managed to pull himself half-together in eating, taking in normal drink, and resuming his usual in the gym; this was still going on when his daughter was found in her chamber. The maid who found her screamed, then gained his attention before watching him take Heviha to his physician, who wasn't able to do a thing to help or prevent her from dying. If he had to put a word to how he was now, he'd have to say that he was borderline insane. The stillbirth of Sola, then the passing of his wife, was bad enough... the passing of his two surviving daughters, who had nothing at all wrong with them, was far worse. His sanity, and drive to live, had just crumbled.

The phone lines were severed. The mail just piled up; not a single envelope was opened, or a single letter read. His house, which, before the loss of his wife, was so neat and tidy, was now in very bad shape. Most of his staff went on their way; none of them wanted to work for a man who was nearly insane with his grief over losing his loved ones.

"Even the dogs want nothing to do with me." RosolVile thought as he went to put on some clothes. He had found enough sanity to let the dogs out six days ago; Qurlah and Toknet were scratching, chewing, and baying at the back door, so he let them out and, so far, he hadn't heard or seen a thing of them since. The dogs, for some reason, had seemed scared. Their tails were tucked between their legs; their ears were nearly laid flat against their heads; their eyes were large... He let them out without putting much thought in on their coming back, or what was wrong with them. The four cats that he and his family had were gone too; where they went, he didn't know. Maybe one of the staff took them. Maybe, instead of leaving them behind, with a near insane man, who might not look after them, someone had a heart in taking them to prevent their demise. With the way he felt, he was glad to see that each animal was gone. It was less for him to worry over.

A dirty muscle shirt, a smelly pair of briefs, and a pair of brown-tan formal shorts, that were torn at the hems, were put on after he reached the room that he slept in. He didn't bother in putting a pair of socks on; he just threw a pair of ragged shoes on then left the room. He was gone for all of two seconds before returning; the bathroom was re-visited, then the medicine cabinet was thrown open and the bottle of Bufteron was removed from the shelf that it was on. Two of the blue-colored, oval-shaped pills were taken. The bottle was left in the sink; he didn't bother putting it back where he got it. His near two-month routine of just walking around his home was resumed after the pills were taken.

"Eleven-point-five million dollar home and you're letting it go to shit... Dad would be grinning from ear to ear about that. Bet he's more than glad to know that the castle wasn't left to you." RosolVile thought as he went down the hallway, which was more than a little dusty, and had all matter of sticky gunk on the walls. The carpet, that was under his feet, was sticking to him with each step that he took; with his mind being in the state that it was in, he didn't notice or put much worry in on what the state of the building was in.

He was a little miffed after seeing his father's will. Instead of his name being placed as the castle's new beneficiary, Trobrencus's was listed. The place where the family started, which use to be in the Detzer district before being given to his father, was left to Trobrencus, who wasn't only mostly gay but also childless and didn't have any interest in marrying or having a family of his own. It took him nearly a week to figure out the reason behind the castle not being left to him—even though he and his father's relationship was rekindled, it wasn't really the same as it use to be and he owed it all to the way he acted around the ladies. If his father didn't walk in on him getting a blowjob by his cousin on the night that his father's sister and her family dropped by for a two-day visit, he wouldn't of been thrown from the house or disowned. Aldiria was the one who started the affair; whenever she came over for a visit, she'd target him. She'd rub him all over before taking him upstairs to a room that wasn't being used. They'd do their thing then separate; up to his father's discovery of the affair on that cold, windy night, no one knew of his activities with the ladies. His father would of surely thrown him from the house earlier if he knew of his screwing around with his maids, and their daughters—he wasn't a virgin by a long shot when the affair was discovered. In a way, being thrown from the house, and then disowned for being caught fucking a family member, tamed him down. A little. Just enough to not get in trouble again.

He did a lot of what he was doing now. While he had a home, and was living in it, he was much like a vagabond. He didn't treat his home like his anymore... he was treating it like a stranger. Instead of going home a few days after being thrown out, then dropping to his knees and begging for forgiveness, he wandered from one town to the next. Money was begged for; people chased him from certain places, or establishments; two men actually bum-raped him after noticing that he was wandering around unsupervised; he was robbed of the items that he had on his person; and he caught more than enough colds and ailments that kept him down. After nineteen years and eight months of living this lifestyle, he made the decision to go to his grandfather for assistance. Just fifty or so dollars—something to help him get a suitable place to live in, that was what he asked the man for after he found him on his doormat. His grandfather, or Da, as he called him, had looked him over after he asked for the money; he, a smelly bum, who didn't have a red cent to his name, but had gained enough hurt and experience to last a bloody-damn lifetime, had come close to crying after asking for that money. Here he was, a Surfeit, who wasn't even out of his teenage years, out on his own and asking for money so he wouldn't have to worry about being robbed, raped, chased off from some place after begging for money, or food, or worse, killed.

"Think you better come inside, M'Boy." RosolVile remembered his grandfather, who he didn't have the best of relationship with, but who he figured was the best person to go to in his situation, saying. The door was thrown open, then he was ushered in; the call for a bath to be drawn was done next.

While he bathed, he told the tale of what he went through, and what he did to warrant it. His grandfather had sat on the other side of the curtain; he listened to him speak, but he didn't say a thing until after the last word of what he had to tell him was said. It took him nearly five baths to get clean; his emotional side had nearly been exposed with each one. His grandfather had given him some clothes before leading him to the house's kitchen—after leaving the castle to his father, the man moved into a modest, 6,000 square foot home that had six bedrooms, three full baths and one half-bathroom, two kitchens, a private gym, a small theater, and a small pool in it. The first decent meal that he had in nearly twenty years was made, then given to him; the man let him eat before speaking his mind on what he told him.

"Sounds like a lesson fit for one of peasant background was given to a Prince of Prominent backing." the man said. "Instead of kicking you from the castle, Iack should of tore the skin from your back. Aldiria should of been disciplined too, since it takes more than one to condone to such faults as that of what you was... disciplined for.

"Your father's attitude towards inter-family relationships stems from the attempt that my father did in trying to get me to marry him to his first cousin. His temper, even as a young child, was never very good... It's a tinge worse than mine, Boy. After discovering what my father wanted him to marry, he strolled up to me then laid it on the line on what he was and wasn't to marry."

"I wasn't planning on marrying Aldiria, Da." he said. He remembered his grandfather holding the first two fingers of his hand up—after silencing him, the man continued speaking.

"I was quite proud of the boy when he insisted on marrying who he chose to marry. A call to my father was made, then he was told that no such marriage between your father and Claeac was to happen in this life or the next. I never stopped him from dating who he chose to, and I never stopped him from marrying Zeywe, Birava, or Dablonie. He ever tell you, or your siblings, about his feelings towards inter-family relationships?"

"No,"

"Tis a shame. What happened is as much his fault as it is yours, then. If he told you of how he stood on blood marrying blood nothing between you and Aldiria would of happened. While I've noticed how you are with the ladies, I've also noticed that you have a better than good head on your shoulders; I do believe that you would of been scared straight from doing anything with another in the family if word on your father's feelings towards relationships held within ones family was spoken of."

His father and grandfather had gotten into a fierce fight about two hours later. His grandfather had put in a call, and then spoke his mind on the situation, before saying something around the area of his taking him under his wing for a while—that sure shocked the PJ's from his lower half! He expected for the man to let him stay with him for a few days before sending him on his way; being given lodgings was far from his mind. The two hundred years that he spent with his grandfather were pleasant; he learned a lot from the man, and their relationship got a little better, and stronger, in that time. The only issue that he had was when immediate family came over—instead of going downstairs, then saying hello his father, stepmother, and siblings, he stayed upstairs. Both he and his grandfather knew that a bruiser of a fight would happen if he showed his face during them visitations; his father had never asked where he was, what he was doing, or how he was faring during the years that he was living under the man's roof.

A bank account was opened for him about two years before his scheduled leaving of his secondary nest. His grandfather had issued an order that only a certain amount of monies were allowed to be removed from it each month; he was told to get a normal peasant job right after being given the "boot" from the man's place. Twenty years of normal struggles happened before the man's shocking passing occurred; instead of being allowed to grieve for him, and his father, who passed away at nearly the same time that he did, he was targeted as a suspect for murder. His father had said nothing on his being investigated for murder. He was too clouded up with his own grief to say much on anything; his stepmother, who remained on his side during his premature bachelor days, was firm on the law about his having no involvement, though. The events of what happened with him after his grandfather's decease no one but he knew—with his having to get a cheap lawyer after being put in the slammer for nearly a week, then having to take a polygraph to prove his innocence, he bet the man did a lot of rolling on the slab of metal that he laid on for nine weeks.

"It took a total of six hundred years before my father showed up at my place for a chat on things," RosolVile thought as he descended the half-spiral staircase that ran down from the house's second level. With his place being the length that it was, there were three staircases in it; one at either end of the house, and another in the house's center. All three were different in structure—one had a normal wooden guardrail, while the second had a simple, silver leafed, wrought iron guardrail, and the one that he was descending had a bronze, steel, and gold guardrail. All but the one that he was descending had a stretch of carpet running down them.

He wasn't sure as to why he showed up, but he had and, what's better, he was the one to suggest that a sort of reconciliation be done between them. It took a while, but he regained about ninety-eight percent of the relationship that they had before he was disowned; his father had never trusted him to be alone with the female members of the family, nor did he allow for him to be left alone with his female servants, after the reconciliation was done.

He figured that the castle being left to Trobrencus was done as a sort of favor to him—with such a big place to look after, and servants needing to be acquired to keep it in tip-top form, there was just too much probability that he could go off on the fly in sleeping with the hired help.

The family heirloom being passed not to the firstborn son but the lastborn was perfectly understandable too. With his trust being blown, and with Trobrencus swinging towards being more on the gay side than the straight or neutral side of the Bi-sexual orientation, Raal was the next bet to pass the piece to. Raal was straight and, long before their father passed away, showed good ambitions in marrying and making their line prosper. With his not having any ears, he wouldn't of been able to wear it anyways.

"Not like the tradition's not been pursued with that piece—Vicloto Abravakak SurVil, my seventh great-grandfather, created the tradition of the father passing the piece down to the firstborn son; in ten generations, the tradition's only been adhered to in the proper fashion seven times." RosolVile said. He started tallying the ones who weren't born first, but still received the piece. "ChaboVile Relspin SurVil changed his surname to Shurfeet after a dispute between he and his older brother, HaivdenVile Kruckloon SurVil, occurred on who'd get the piece; Chabo's father, DubsalisVile Frolobin SurVil, the oldest surviving son of Vicloto SurVil, gave the piece to Chabo after Haivden was claimed by the enemy. DebonzVile Murtonn Surfeet, who dropped the H from his surname after seeing its use as silly, and was the son of GlovinoVile Kaawe Shurfeet, who, in turn, was the firstborn son of Chabo Shurfeet, passed the piece to his fourthborn son, OlozilVile Narriseer Surfeet, after his first three sons were claimed by a disease. And OlozilVile Narriseer Surfeet, the father of my great-grandfather, LynkVile Brawsck Surfeit, gave the piece to his secondborn son after his firstborn son tried to kill him."

The Surfeit name came to be known far and wide after his great-grandfather reached adulthood. Instead of sticking with the name that he was born with, he exchanged one of the E's with an I. The family was already known before his birth, but it was getting quite difficult to keep up with thanks to all the surname changes. LynkVile Surfeit ensured that the Surfeit surname was the final change to the name by creating a document, which everyone in his family signed. The agreement for the ones in their family, who went on to become conquerors, to leave their birth galaxy alone was already forged four generations earlier; the man further established this by including it in his document.

He, like everyone else in his family who became conquerors, had a copy of that document. It was currently under lock and key, and with his property blueprints and acre assessments... which he wouldn't see again for nearly two hundred and twenty thousand years.

Dong! Dong!

The clock, that was in the grand room, tolled the hour—3 p.m. He walked around, in a half-daze, for another six hours before coming upon his personal physician—a man who, he did believe, was the only one of his staff to still be working for him. He went into the wine cellar, a very spacious room that was equipped with more than two bistro sets, and had marble flooring and wood panel walls; one of the game rooms, which had a pool table, a Foosball table, a shuffleboard, and three dart boards, was what he went into next. He entered one of the theaters next. The red velvet curtain, that was drawn over the screen, looked quite comfortable to him; the red carpet, that was under his feet, was quite vibrant, and the cedar wood walls, that were a stained, yellow-gold color, had a good glow to them. After entering, and then exiting, the room, he went to the music room and then the sun room. He was just heading towards the library that was on the house's first level when he was stopped. His physician's hand landed on his skeletal arm; he was stopped, then turned around.

"Sir, you look most unwell this evening." the man, who looked none too well himself, said to him.

Looks to the side, he really didn't feel well at all. The Bufteron had only given him an hour's worth of relief from the headache, which started being felt at around the time that his youngest sister, who was never truly healthy, perished in her car accident; he was taking just about any headache-related medicine that was in the medicine cabinet of his bathroom for all of three days now—so far, the time period of relief given by them was the same. He'd get an hour, maybe an hour and a half, of relief before the throbbing returned with a vengeance.

The hot/cold flashes started yesterday, while the feeling of been stabbed in the stomach, followed by embarrassing diarrhea, happened about two hours after they began. A spell of scratching his arms and legs happened that early morning—he had rashes, bruises, and all matter of open wounds to both extremities now; where they were coming from he didn't know. The act of scratching himself had caused them to grow in size in very little time. Maybe his body was in that state where it was starting to fall apart. Maybe his prolonged grief, and non-healthy habits, had caught up with him. Maybe he was dying. Maybe his body was telling him in the most painful way that he was to die soon. He started taking scolding hot showers during the cold flashes, and then freezing cold showers during the hot flashes, just before heading to bed yesterday; as of that early afternoon, he didn't have to contend with having to scratch himself, or experience the cold flashes or embarrassing diarrhea. It was just the ache in his head, and his body growing so hot that sweat literally rained from him, that he was dealing with.

Thanks to his ailing stomach, he hadn't eaten a thing in nearly twenty-four hours. Not only was he afraid to eat anything but he had no interest in taking anything down.

"Sir!" his physician, who's overly wrinkled face was two shades darker than its usual merlot red color, exclaimed after he started away from him.

"Head away, Obazon." RosolVile said when a trickle of blood started flowing from the side of his mouth.

He was on his way from the man when the cough began. His chest, which was a ghost of its former self, heaved in after the flexing began. This cough was neither wet or pleasant to experience—not only did he experience pain with each flexing motion that he did but he was treated to seeing a near-white, viscus-like fluid, and his dark olive green blood, splash against the wall that was opposite him. He stared at the wall that was showered in fluid and blood for a few seconds before turning halfway around; his physician took one look at the disgust that was on the wall, then at him, before taking to his heels. The man ran to the closest residence, which was over a mile away, and was owned by a rather ancient couple who were also battling the same thing that he was. The phone in the residence was ripped from its station after he slammed his sick-leaden body into the front door, then the number for Gordub Hospital was dialed.

An ambulance, which, except for the two-tone, green and purple stripe that was on its sides, was a predominate plum color, arrived to his residence five minutes later. After a few minute search, he, who had since collapsed to the floor, was found and then loaded up.

"His vitals are poor," one of the EMT's said after he was put in the ambulance; along with checking his vitals, they worked to strap him to the stretcher and then hook some IV's to his arm.

"This man's burning up!" the other EMT exclaimed.

"Not another one!" the vehicle's driver shouted. "We've trucked more than a hundred patients with his exact symptoms to the hospital on this day alone."

"A hundred and six-point five!" the first EMT exclaimed after taking his temperature.

"Put the pedal to the floor on this thing, Lalun!" the other EMT yelled. This kind soul turned to address him after yelling. "Mr., you hang in there. We'll get you to Gordub Hospital in a jiff, okay?"

At the moment, he didn't care where he went. All he cared about was getting some relief for the ache that he felt in his head, and for the uncomfortably hot temperature that his body was forcing to endure. His body, yet again, started to shudder as sweat rained from it; his eyelids fluttered up and down; his hands opened, then closed; he breathed heavily; he shook his head every which way... By the time the ambulance had him within a half mile of the hospital, a new symptom joined what he was feeling. Pain roared through his neck, up and down his inner thighs, and through his groin. The old injury that he sustained as a teenager, when both of his nuts were knocked out of their sack by one of his father's mares, started giving him considerable agony. It almost felt like the seam of the scar that formed after the surgery was performed on him was coming undone; he yelled his pain loudly for all of two minutes before quieting. An oxygen mask was applied over his face for a short while before being removed. He spat, then coughed up blood, during the final few moments of his trip to the hospital. When they reached the hospital, the EMT's worked feverishly to remove him from the vehicle's back; they handed him to a team of doctors then went by their way.

"This is the worst case I've seen," the doctor at his head said. "Antontya! Get one of the emergency rooms ready, we have a Class Five situation here."

"The family name is Surfeit—someone call the number that's on this man's wife's card! RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit. Call then tell him to get here and fast!" one of the presiding nurses screamed.

The room that he was rolled into was done in an all-white motif. There was a very pungent odor of alcohol and medicine in it that he was fast in trying to not smell. There were no gentle hands placed on him during his stay in the hospital; the straps were hastily removed from his body then he was grabbed and then heaved to the bed. He wasn't allowed to voice his displeasure over being handled so roughly—his arms were tied to the bed, then a sort of guard was put in his mouth that prevented any and all mouth-based communication from happening. All matter of intravenous drips were hooked to his wrists; a nasal cannula was applied to his nose; the clothes that he was wearing were cut from his body then thrown to the side. He groaned, then yelled around the mouth piece after one of the nurses started pocking and prodding at his lower abdomen. A scream was emitted a few seconds later, after a stinging sensation was felt between his legs.

All while this was happening, a receptionist was working on relaying the fact that he was in the hospital, and being treated for an illness, to his brother—who, even from his distance, sounded very alarmed by what he was hearing. Raal was just saying that he was teleporting to the hospital when the doctor that was charged with his care opened his eyes. His brother was running through the doors when the man's stethoscope "tapped" the protuberance that was on the left side of his neck. He yelled right when the boil burst. The presiding doctor leaped back; a howl of shock, then increasing disgust, settled over his face as he watched the protuberance bleed his body of blood.

"Oh geez!" the doctor groaned after the bed underneath RosolVile was soiled in excrement.

"Doctor!" one of the nurses screamed. "Don't just stand there! Do something!"

"Oh! Oh! Out of my way... I'm going to get sick!" another nurse exclaimed.

Instead of doing something to help him in his situation, the doctor, along with two of the five nurses, fled the room. Their hands were plastered to their faces, and their eyes were huge; the remaining nurses shook their heads then returned to helping him. The little strength that he had was drained in little time; he blinked his eyes a few dozen times before finding himself unable to stop them from closing.

His final, shaky, but surprisingly strong, breath was taken right when his brother rushed into the hallway that his now deceased body was on.


	12. The Briefing

The room that they were sitting in was appropriately sized for the activity that was about to take place. A portion of the city was able to be seen thanks to the large picture windows being open; before the drapes were pulled, they saw the rooftops of the tall and thin, or robust, buildings—with the hour being what it was, all of what they were seeing was lit up quite brightly and, thus, could be seen for miles. Even though the sounds of inner-city life were muted to their ears, they knew what was going on around them. The men and women, who were seated at the table, either lived in the city or, sometime in the past, lived or worked it or one close-by; due to this, they knew the in's and out's of city life very well.

After the drapes were dropped, and the lights were doused, city life became the last thing on their minds. Their eyes, and attentions, were focused on the newly dropped, pull-down white screen—data pertaining to the latest tally on civilians who came in for treatment for an unknown ailment, and who all succumbed to it, was being shown to them.

There were two graphs, and a set of written notes, on the screen. The first graph showed the significant increases in patients that came in for medical treatment in the larger and more populated cities and towns of Gamma Vile. The bars on the graph showed that the medical in-flow of patients that were seen during the months of June and July had nearly been the same as any other month; the bar that was beside them showed that a sudden climb in patients started happening around the first week of August. The bar following that one symbolized normal patient in-flow activity; nothing really significant happened between August 10 and 29. There were a series of bars beside that one that showed a series of sudden, small, sharp inclines in medical patients started to occur between August 30 and September 30.

The eyes of the room's occupants were, more or less, drawn to the final three bars that were on this graph. These three bars showed that a very significant increase in patients happened between October 10 and 17, and again between October 31 and November 14, and then again between November 22 and December 3. Throats clicked after these bars were seen; the middle bar, alone, showed that over three thousand had succumbed to the ailment that they were here to talk about.

The next graph was different than the first. It showed the significant increases in patients that came in for medical treatment in the smaller and less populated cities and towns of Gamma Vile. This graph showed that even more significant increases in patients occurred in the months of August, September, October, and November. Again, surplus and alarming die-offs of patients, between October 10 and 17, October 31 and November 14, and November 22 and December 3, was shown; the tally on the final line said that two thousand had succumbed to the ailment in question in the last two months.

Most of the people in the room were new. The folk who held the positions that they were only just granted had perished in the second to final wave of what was going around. Most of the folk who perished had expressed interests in the last two meetings about putting a warning out to the masses about a possible pandemic in the making; after what happened between November 22 and December 3, everyone in the room was sure that more than a plain warning was to be put out. Other than the two graphs, it was the handwritten material that made this assumption almost guaranteed to happen.

 _Most of the patients who've perished to UA-1 (Unknown Ailment #1) have been autopsied. Whether instructed by families of the decease, or the presiding doctor charged with their care, autopsies were done on ones were perished from the ailment in question._

 _Notes on Ailment and Its Symptoms:_

 _\- First noted cases started appearing in late-July. While having lengthy care that spanned nearly a week, all patients succumbed to their ailment. With the exception of an exceptionally high white blood cell count, and a near in-existent red blood cell count, nothing abnormal came up during the search for cause of decease. An unknown infection was placed to the certificates of each person who succumbed to this period's ailment._

 _\- Protuberances noted for 85% of patients. Boils are severely sensitive to touch; they burst even after being examined with the gentlest of care of either hand or instrument. 95% of blood drains from the protuberances after they've been touched. These protuberances appear on the neck, inner and, sometimes, outer thighs, groin, and armpits; the ones on the neck are the ones that are the most noticed, and are the most touched by medical professionals during preliminary examinations._

 _\- Rashes, bruises, and open sores started appearing on patients during the October 31 - November 14 patient in-flow activity. All seem normal in all attributes. Tests on samples that were taken from the presumed infected areas of patients all note that no infections were present; cause for each ailment isn't known. Highly irritated skin was reported as happening after these ailments appeared; some patients scratched themselves raw before being restrained by medical professionals._

 _\- A prolonged cough, which procures blood, and a viscus-like fluid, in six hours time, was noted as occurring at around the October 31 - November 14 patient in-flow activity. Cough has become a near-stationary symptom of UA-1._

 _\- A more than severe fever, followed by hot and cold chills, surfaced during the November 22 - December 3 patient in-flow activity. Most patients who came in were more than drenched in their own sweat; complaints of severe headaches surfaced at this time too._

 _\- Bouts of diarrhea started happening during the November 22 - December 3 patient in-flow activity. Cause isn't known to medical fields._

 _\- With the exception of some patients, the healths of ones who succumbed to UA-1 were better than fine._

 _\- Folk of both genders, and ages, have come down and then succumbed to UA-1._

 _\- Tests show no signs of normal illnesses procured by cooler temperatures_

 _\- Pregnant women lose their generally healthy unborn babies with no explanation as to why. The mothers of the expelled fetuses all perish 6 to 12 hours after miscarriage/stillbirth._

 _\- Symptoms of ones who've succumbed to UA-1 coincide with that of what the ones in the M-51 Galaxy's front-lying planets have come down with._

 _\- Medical fields in the nearby galaxies of GR-264, YLV 42C, the Eyelash Cloud, and Calesius Galaxy have also shown data that coincides with that of what the citizens of the M-51 Galaxy are succumbing to._

 _\- Symptoms similar to that of what patients who came in for treatment during the July 31 - August 6 period of patient in-flow activity are now being experienced by folk who reside in the M-51 Galaxy's lower-lying sector._

"The only difference between our galaxy and the GR-264, YLV 42C, Eyelash Cloud, and Calesius is that they've known what's been going on for months while we've only just started growing concerned about why our populace is falling." Dofsuuk Shlock, a young buck, who was quite well known in his galaxy of birth for being a near genius when it came to concocting formulas, and creating serums that aided one's systems against potentially harmful pathogens, thought.

Up to a few hundred years ago, he was a nervous upstart from Oggletlama University. Uncle Jarag TuVe had seen a lot of potential in him, which, he liked to believe, was the reason behind his asking him to pair up with him. The partnership that he agreed to become apart of had made his uncle a rich man; while no riches were sent his way, he did become near-famous for his activities in the laboratory.

He was responsible for the Y-13 vaccine, which was put out for the Yellogal Flu, which, up to his vaccine's creation, was claiming anywhere between fifteen and sixty thousand per cold season. The T-12 vaccine, another cure that he was the source behind, was made five years later; the disease known as Throlax claimed somewhere between a million and ten million people before that vaccine was put on market. His uncle was accredited to the Ampicil medicine, which helped folk who had bacterial infections. The drug known as Protozin, which was made specifically to target the ailment that women sometimes got after giving birth, was created by him a mere two months after the pact was made.

Up to a few months ago, his uncle was one of the more top-ranking medical officials in his profession. Everyone went to him when an issue with medicine, or disease, came up. It was a grand surprise to him when he learned that his uncle was the primary source of the two prior meetings on UA-1 coming to a close without a decision being made on whether to alert the populace about the ailment—the man said something about further proof needing to be acquired before anything was done about telling the populace about what was going on.

While his uncle's death to the very ailment that he attended the two meetings on was a shock, the one on his being approached by one of Teluder Kakian's couriers was even more so. Mr. Kakian was upset over the lack of professionalism that was being done by his medical field, and he was also upset over the untimely death of his young son, who sadly passed away on the final day of November. A conversation with Mr. Kakian had provided him with all of what he needed to know; the ruler of his galaxy not only wanted answers on what was going on but he also wanted a cure to be made and fast for whatever it was that was claiming his citizens. His uncle was approached by the man; Mr. Kakian was phenomenally disappointed with the way Jarag handled himself in the two prior meetings and he was hoping that, with him in his seat, something would come out of this one.

"I'm afraid that I can't be there—until this thing's figured out, and properly acknowledged and then give a cure, I'm to not step foot from Preron. I've sent couriers in my stead to gather the next available folk who are more than qualified to fill in the Board's available seats—you are to become one of the people who run my Medical Board. Everyone knows what to do, so do me proud in making up a more than appropriate decision at the meeting that I've called up." Mr. Kakian, who was currently all "held-up" in his winter home that was on the farthest planet of the M-51 Galaxy, said.

"I'll do my best, sir." he returned.

Mr. Kakian was very well known for dropping the phone after hearing something that he was pleased with so, he didn't get hot around the collar after the click of the line being dropped was heard. The man might be more than a little pleased over the data that was compiled in the last forty-eight hours; two of the medical board's newcomers had placed more than a hundred calls to the planet's medical facilities about acquiring data on who all died since August and two others personally saw to going out to the mortuaries that were in the smaller towns and cities of Gamma Vile. Another of the newcomers had placed some calls to the medical fields of the nearby galaxies—to see if they were experiencing anything abnormal with their populace that revolved around disease management. Them five people looked more than a little tired, but he was sure that they felt more than a happy over what they managed to scrounge up for the meeting.

"Excuse me, where's the statistics for the ones who died at home?" when no one answered her question, Dr. Lahi Vloria, a marvelously beautiful Goblin, who had stringy, dark blonde hair, medium-green skin, and bright green eyes, asked. This woman, who had just been granted Dr. Yiloh Pesalek's seat, stood then went to the front of the room; she pulled a chalkboard out then started writing on it. When she was done writing, she stopped then turned around; she then started presenting her writing. "Over a hundred were found as deceased in their homes between July 31 and August 3; most who were found between these days weren't taken to the hospitals. They were taken straight to the mortuaries, where they were swiftly prepared for burial. Only a select few were taken to the hospital for autopsies.

"An even greater number of civilians were found dead in their homes between August 30 and September 30. Again, most were taken to mortuaries for burial preparing. A spike of home-found deceased civilians occurred between October 10 and 17; a similar spike occurred between October 31 and November 14. The civilians that were found dead at home between November 22 and December 3 has yet to be tallied—it's estimated that nearly three hundred people died in their homes between them days.

"The folk at the mortuaries are claiming to be up to their necks in deceased civilians. The mortuaries in some of the larger cities and towns of Gamma Vile have closed down; each of them have put out the claim of not being able to accept anymore bodies until the ones that are currently in their buildings are tended and then moved out for burial. Some of the mortuaries in the planet's smaller towns and cities have done the same thing; cities and towns that have more than two mortuaries in them have been taking some of the surplus workload from the closed mortuaries. Due to the surplus workload, supplies in some of the mortuaries are running low."

"Eeesh," a middle-aged Lizaird by the name of Dr. Essezazaar Erulav exclaimed after seeing the estimated tally that followed Miss. Vloria's notes on the spike that occurred between November 22 and December 3. "Two hundred and seventy-six were found dead in their homes? Are you sure the number's that and not lower?"

"Quite sure—while Mr. Oitix and Miss. Yualock were concentrating on calling the mortuaries of Gamma Vile's smaller cities and towns, I took it upon myself to check into the mortuaries located in the larger cities and towns of this planet. I went through more than six pads of paper before deciding to put in a few hour nap; the number that I've taken on the folk who've been found to be deceased at home is what I've written. Before heading over here for this meeting, I was told that the number was nearing three hundred. It's being estimated that it'll climb to over that and soon."

"People are still being found?" Dr. Essezazaar Erulav asked. "Three days after the noted spike's drop, people are still being found?"

"Did you do an estimate for the other planets in this galaxy?" Dr. Galagat Sejal asked.

"No, I was restricting myself to the mortuaries located on this planet—if the number is what it is here, I'm betting that it's nearly the same on the other planets in our middle-lying sector. The numbers for our lower-lying sector are probably much lower than that of the front and middle-lying sectors." Dr. Vloria answered.

Dr. Galagat Sejal, one of the few remaining originals of the old medical board, stood then went to the front of the room. While he left all of what Miss. Vloria wrote on the chalkboard, he removed a different chalkboard from the room's available closet then set in on writing on it. This man stood an impressive six foot, four inches. His head was surrounded by red and purple fur; the mane, that he sported, was of the same color. His eyes were a very purple color. He looked very much like a person of medicine with his blue formal pants, white, button down, long sleeve shirt, and doctor's overcoat. This man, who was of the Lyontius species—the species that was put on the eight-day deceased, LaquanilVile Surfeit's adoption papers—, wrote on the board for all of five minutes before turning to address the others at the meeting.

"With contact with the medical fields of the GR-264, YLV 42C, Eyelash Cloud, and Calesius galaxies coming to a near stop over the last few months, and what's going on in the front-lying sector of our galaxy, we should of known that we were headed for trouble long before now." this man said. "Even though the board of Medicine in our front-lying sector was wiped out months ago, we should of noticed the alarming similarities that we started seeing in October. People residing on the front-lying planets of this galaxy have been left to their own devices—there's riots, civil disobedience, and religious upheavals happening almost daily. The boxes of the deceased line streets; children are playing on them like they're jungle gyms. The air in some towns and cities is ripe with disease and death. I went to Smora after applying the appropriate attire for one who goes to a potentially pathogen afflicted planet; what I found was enough to scare a few years from my life. Instead of boxes lining streets of certain cities and towns, the dead is simply placed out in the open. In fifteen of the forty towns and cities that I visited, there were more dead than living. I was able to acquire more than a lifetime's amount of samples for testing purposes from just the ones that were lying out and about in the streets. I also collected more than enough deceased birds from the planet.

"Upon coming home, then giving myself more than four baths to ensure that nothing that I brought back was able to be passed off to another, I tested them samples. What I found is enough for me to ask for everyone in this room to put forth the suggestion that Mr. Kakian close the gates of travel for ones who wish to both come into our galaxy and leave it."

His blood, along with everyone else's, he presumed, went cold after his eyes landed on the written material that was on the second chalkboard. Not only were they headed for more than plain trouble if Mr. Sejal's testing was proved to be conclusive but so were their neighbors. Mr. Sejal didn't only go to Smora; he also went to several of the other planets in the known afflicted galaxies that were near them. Samples taken from each of them planets looked eerily similar to that of what Mr. Sejal found and then collected from Smora.

The proteins for the pathogen in question weren't viable for detection, but there was a clear connection shown between the deceased avian and sentient life of each afflicted planet that Mr. Sejal visited. One without proper medical training would point to the birds as being the cause for the ailment; the test that was done on how long the birds and sentient forms were dead showed a near-similar cause of death... and it also showed that the sentient forms that Mr. Sejal took his samples from had perished anywhere between a few hours to a few days before the sampled birds did.

"That's the strongest cell wall I've even seen!" Dr. Essezazaar Erulav exclaimed after taking in what Mr. Sejal had written. "Ninety-nine-point-eight percent? What can combat that!"

"I acquired some samples from some of the medical clinics of this planet after seeing what the tests brought back on the samples that I took from abroad." Dr. Sejal said. "After testing them, I saw that the signature of the strain that started in, say, late-July was far different than that of what's being experienced now. The pathogen that we're currently discussing has been evolving with each wave that's come in. With the current strength of this thing being noted, and nearly thirty thousand coming down and then being claimed by it, I fear what the death toll will be like in another six months to a year's time."

"You wrote something about the percentage of the cell wall's strength, I take it that you know what the structure of this thing is?" a man by the name of Dr. Peegno Shirelim asked.

"Yes—before any questions are asked, I'll make verbal note now that I've never seen a cell structure like this before and, from what I was able to gather from the written material that's in my library, there's been nothing out there like this cataloged before." Dr. Sejal replied. "The shape is similar to that of a safety pin—it's like a rod, and has an odd, bipolar staining to it."

"Most of the pathogens out there are circular or prong-shaped." Dofsuuk Shlock said. "Was you able to detect if it was motile—if it enters a body then attaches itself, or moves about freely in its host?"

"I didn't do any tests on that." Dr. Sejal replied. He looked at the group of people for a few seconds before speaking again. "However, I was able to note that it has a sort of exterior layer to it that normal antibiotics aren't able to penetrate. I used just about all of the antibiotic samples to my disposal to see if any had an effect on what I took from abroad—nothing of what I used had an effect on this."

"Which means that we're up against a totally new, uncharted, bacterium." Dofsuuk Shlock said.

And he knew what that meant—he had a lot of work ahead of him to do. His lab would have to be set-up; his assistants would have to be briefed on what was to happen in the upcoming months/years; and, in order for him to create a vaccine against this thing, he'd have to acquire some samples of his own to study and then perform tests on. He'd have to put himself, and his system, in danger to get the samples that he needed. He'd have to do exactly as Dr. Sejal did in going abroad to find samples of the strains that happened earlier that year, and from the wave that just happened. He'd have to do his own testing, then, since this thing seemed so new to science and medicine, he'd have to make up a new antibiotic to combat it. After creating a drug that could combat it, he'd have to do a series of tests on folk who were sick to see if it was fully combative against what everyone was coming down with.

He was looking at anywhere between six months and a year and a half's worth of sleepless nights, and he was looking at spending more time in his laboratory than at home. Though accommodations for his wife and daughters would be made to ensure that they stayed well during his office-stuck days, they'd probably not be seeing or hearing much of him for a while.

Working in medicine had its benefits and disadvantages. While the pay was good, and helping folk who had diseases or viruses by creating medicine for them that'd combat them things was fine and all, the time spent away from home and family was hard. He and Bapali were married for a little over four hundred and forty years now; he had spent around a hundred and fifty to a hundred and eighty years of their marriage around her, that was how demanding his job was... and that was also how driven he was in staying in the lab until the medicinal creating, and all the fine tests that followed it, was complete. His and Bapali's daughters were a mere seventy-five years apart in age... they were made near the start of their marriage. He wanted more children, and Bapali was exercising her interest in wanting more children with each passing day; with the way his career, and heavy schedule, was going, having another daughter, or a son, couldn't happen right now.

Maybe, if it didn't take but so long to figure out the pathogen's make and model, and then get a vaccine out to combat it, and if he and his survived what was going on, he could take his family out for a lengthy vacation. Six months on a different planet, or on one of the moons that revolved around one of the planets of the M-51 Galaxy. He, Bapali, and their two girls could rest, relax, and grow closer as a family and, maybe, that third baby could be concieved.

"Mr. Shlock, where are you going?" Dr. Vloria asked after he stood then started for the room's door.

"To do what I've been employed to do—work in the lab to get a vaccine out to aid the masses in combating what's going around." Dofsuuk Shlock replied without stopping.

"We haven't discussed the potential threat that this has for everyone." a near-obese man named Sliyuk Swazhent said.

"With what Mr. Sejal's written on the board and spoken of, I don't think a discussion on that is needed." Dofsuuk Shlock said.

"What of the discussion on what the population should do after the pathogen's been exposed via the papers and airways?" Dr. Vloria asked.

"You think it's wise to put out a bulletin on what's going on?" Dr. Sejal asked his backside. He stopped long enough to turn around; his yellow eyes met Galagat's purple ones sharply.

"More than wise, yes—after what happened between October 31 and November 14, and November 22 and December 3, I think it's more than wise to put out a warning to everyone in this galaxy about what's going on." Dofsuuk replied.

"Class four situation?" Dr. Essezazaar Erulav asked.

"No," Dofsuuk shook his head. "I'd say this calls for an even higher alert than that. Higher than five, even."

"There's no alert higher than five, Dof." Dr. Peegno Shirelim pointed out.

"With what's going on, I think it'd be more than appropriate to create an alert that's higher than what's already implemented on the charts. Class five calls for Galactic shut-down of gates, and for vigilance for folk who venture outside of their homes. With what's going on, I think it'd be more than wise to put a call out on people not leaving their homes." Dofsuuk Shlock said.

"Mr. Kakian would be asking if military assistance should be instated if such a call was made." Dr. Sejal pointed out.

"If enough awareness to what's going on was done, the military wouldn't have to be brought in." Dofsuuk said. "By way of using brute honestly, put enough of a scare in people that'll keep them indoors."

"Which might not be enough to keep some in." Dr. Vloria said. "If the military—"

"The ones appointed to keep everyone inside would be volunteering themselves to getting the pathogen that's going around. After putting the call out, we'd want as few as possible to come down and then succumb to this thing." Dofsuuk said before leaving the room.


	13. The Heartbroken Terror!

From the Gamma Vile _Gluk Gadrel_ , December 7, 3,855 (Page 1)  
Teluder Kakian's Son Succumbs To Unknown Illness

When November 26 came around, we knew that our ruler would do his annual relocation. Ever since marrying, then fathering his first child, Teluder Kakian has taken this trip, which has always been secrete. This was no exception this year. No one, not even the man's staff, knew of when he was to leave his summer residence on Abdos for his winter one on Preron; while the move was expected to be smooth and happy, and seems to be this, it didn't remain this for long. According to two anonymous sources, and the NRC News, the man's youngest child died of mysterious means on the thirtieth of November. While questions were asked on how the child died, nothing was learned until this afternoon.

According to what was said on the news, Sudub Kakian, aged 465, was well on the day of the move. Along with being energetic, he was excited and looking forward to the events that his family were scheduled to attend. This continued right up to the night of the twenty-ninth—from what one of the anonymous sources told the NRC News, the boy came down with a sudden cold before supper of that night. While it wasn't met with much concern on the twenty-ninth, it was on the thirtieth, when he woke then started to exhibit some alarming symptoms—according to the other source, the boy had a better than prevalent cough, high-grade fever, and chills before collapsing then going into a coma. Our ruler's personal physician was looking into his care when, about two hours later, a protuberance was noticed on his armpit. The boy went after the protuberance was seen and then examined.

"While we grieve, we also look for answers on what went wrong." Teluder Kakian said after this afternoon's telecast. "My physician gave better than top-notch care to my son, and did as much as he could to help him get over his illness."

With the boy's symptoms being described, civilians residing in the middle-lying sector of our galaxy, which was overrun by Teluder Tafkin Kakian over a hundred thousand years ago, are wondering if what Sudub Kakian succumbed to wasn't what's being felt by both them and the ones who live in our galaxy's front-lying sector. When asked about there being a potential link between the death of his son and the populace of the 34 planets that line our galaxy's front and middle-lying sectors, Mr. Kakian had nothing to say.

From the Gamma Vile _Zwib Harec_ , December 8, 3,855 (Page 1)  
Galaxies Abroad Succumbing To Disease?

Early this morning, before the kids were sent to school and spouses went to work, word was received about a potentially deadly disease running rampant in our corner of the Universe. Most people were glued to their television sets, or radio boxes, when UA-1 was spoken of and when some of its facts were disclosed. According to numerous sources, the disease has been felt by the ones who live in our galaxy's front-lying sector for nearly a year; in contrast, the ones who live in the neighboring galaxies have felt its effects for upwards of three years. Along with being a shock to hear, many are wondering why we're just learning about it now—with such a threat being present, one would think that it should be acknowledged as soon as possible.

According to what was said on the news, a quarter of the GR-264 Galaxy's population has succumbed to the disease. Notable claimants include Reejan Telipat, one of the galaxy's most celebrated artists of the era; Kachess Tehchik and his nephew, Lycoris Gromark, two of the galaxy's more renown musicians; and Arequed Zumban, the son of the galaxy's ruler's brother, Jahaan Zumban. The galaxy's ruler, Mohini Zumban, has been in hiding for nearly six months; couriers dispatched by the man say that he and his family, which includes his wife of nearly twenty thousand years, Viszla Tuktut, and their twin sons, Muscali and Mesrali, and their teenage daughter, Anabaa, are safe and doing well. Due to most of the galaxy's medical field being claimed by the disease, no cure has been made to combat what's going on.

The YLV 42C Galaxy, which is to the west of our own, has nearly been wiped clean of its civilians. Quibu Neriad, the galaxy's ruler for nearly forty-six thousand, four hundred, and four years, is said to be the lone remaining person of his immediate family. Mr. Neriad is said to be on one of the moons of another of his conquered realms; he wasn't able to be reached when journalists went to question him on the disease that's running rampant in his galaxy.

The Eyelash Galaxy, which is a small galaxy located to the north-northwest of the YLV 42C, has had anywhere between two and five million of its civilians succumb to the disease. Quibu Neriad's cousin, Jabnah Qodaf, was able to be reached by telephone two days ago. He says that, while his medical field is severely undersized, all efforts are being made to create a vaccine that'll combat the disease.

The Calesius Galaxy, which lies to the east of our own, has reached a crucial area with the disease. With the civilians of this galaxy depending more on herbal remedies than medicinal ones, about two-thirds of the population has died. The outlook on this galaxy, which was conquered by Orexel Radnor nearly four thousand, one hundred, and twelve years ago, looks bleak. Mr. Radnor was able to be reached for comment on the situation—he claims that, due to how his people prefer to use herbal methods to medicinal ones, he's powerless to help them.

Efforts by our medical field are being made to form pacts with the medical fields of the galaxies that surround us. It's being estimated that the wait for the disease's cure will run a span of six months.

From the Gamma Vile _Ozani Junel_ , December 10, 3,855 (Page 1)  
Fear Runs Rampant Over Discovery Of Other Galaxies Coming Under Threat Of Disease

It shouldn't be a shock to hear that, twenty-four hours after learning about UA-1, people are growing fearful of what's going on in our pocket of the Universe. From the concern being directed towards our loved ones, to the way we live, to our neighbors, people's voices are being heard. So are a lot of questions, which, while our ruler's yet to answer or make any comments on, we did get some answers to.

In a radio broadcast, given late last night, an unknown scientist spoke of the galaxies that lie some two hundred and thirty light-years north, south, and southwest of us. It's said that there's small pockets of surviving populations in the KD-13 Galaxy, which is to the far northern reaches of us and owned by Yasriann Supe. The Zephyrus Galaxy, which is owned by Raftu Zilzar and to the south of us, is said to be newly effected by the disease; while Mr. Zilzar, and his wife, Taffati Kantadoo, were able to be reached, the ruler of the KD-13 wasn't. With Mr. Supe, who has a new wife and few-month old baby boy, not being able to be reached, it's presumed that the worst has happened to him. After receiving the company of the ones who were sent to see if he was okay, Raftu Zilzar said that he and his are doing fine and are looking for help in finding a cure to what's just arrived to their galaxy.

The same source also disclosed that, after numerous attempts by our military, medical fields, and Teluder Kakian himself, the galaxy that lies to our immediate southwest couldn't be reached. The Lambda Orion, a relatively new galaxy, with a new ruler by the name of Begol Goli, has just ten planets to it and is home to somewhere over five million people. Our ruler is said to be giving orders to two teams of scientists to visit the galaxy in the next few days to see what's going on with it.

While no word on it was made by the source on the radio, many are wondering if UA-1 is the new Pandemic that we have to face. The last Universal Pandemic occurred sixty-one thousand, nine hundred, and fifty-six years ago; along with being given the name of Spli, it claimed over a hundred million lives and had a run of twenty years before being beat. With pandemics usually happening once every forty to fifty thousand years, we are due for having one.

From the Gamma Vile _Ozani Junel_ , December 11, 3,855 (Page 1)  
Leave Home At Own Risk, Says Teluder Kakian

We should of seen it coming. With a potentially dangerous disease running rampant in our corner of the Universe, and the whole population of the Lambda Orion looking to be wiped out by UA-1, a call for the galaxy's gates of travel to be shut seems to be more than appropriate to do. Our ruler, who's on Preron with his family, has issued out a series of commands that we are to adhere to. Not only have the gates of travel been closed, but trade of certain goods has been put to a temporary halt and certain prices of things have been increased. Mr. Kakian says for all to stock up on non-perishable provisions and then wait until word is spread about a cure for the disease has been made.

"We cannot allow for innocent civilians of other galaxies, who have yet to be affected by this disease, to come in contact with what we are battling. For the safety of the ones who reside in our Universe, please stay inside your homes and, under no circumstances, do you indulge in the act of teleportation. Ones who are seen trying to leave this galaxy by vessel will be stopped and then put in jail." Teluder Kakian, the man who conquered our galaxy a hundred and thirteen thousand years ago, said during the broadcast that he, himself, called up.

Two hours after the broadcast was given, word was spread that a form of Jaboa was to be given to all who reside in our galaxy. Teluder Kakian gave a rare, public viewing after receiving his own Jaboa to consume; he and his family consumed it before a mass gathering of fifty people. It's been estimated that a third of the population has followed in his example; a paper has to be signed and then sent to the nearby medical university of the one who's taken the potion. A call of forty-eight hours has been done for each member of our galaxy's population to consume the potion; a threat of imprisonment, and then forced potion taking, has been made if the potion isn't taken between now and December 13.

December 12, 10:45 a.m.; RaalVile Surfeit's Residence

The vials of Jaboa, which was an edible potion used to prevent one from teleporting from one place to another, were delivered to his and his family's house yesterday. Of the three found in the box, only two were consumed—Malakay had no trouble taking hers, and neither did Riki, for that matter. Once the potions were consumed, his wife signed the piece of paper that came with hers then did the same with Riki's; they sent theirs to the nearest medical university right away... the paper that came with his vial was also signed and sent in with theirs, but, unlike theirs, his wasn't truthfully signed.

While he knew he should take it, and that it was wise to take it, he couldn't fathom the idea of taking it. He doubted if the ones who ran Lodox University would notice the falsification on his document—with as many forms as they were getting, they were probably just ticking or putting a line through the names of each person who's form they received. Along with the vials of Jaboa, and their signature-needing papers, he and Malakay received a few certificates in the mail—with a disease now known to be running rampant in their galaxy, the death certificates for most everyone in their family who died that year were re-worked.

With the exception of his baby sister's death certificate, the ones for everyone who died in the last five months had Death By Disease on them. The ink placed to the Cause of Death section of Niijika's, Laquanil's, and Rosol's certificates was only just placed before being removed then replaced with what the bulk of the others had on theirs. The last couple of months were right hard for him and, now that the real cause behind the deaths of the fifteen members of his family was known, it just got worse.

"Axtei was a real cooked-up mess when someone noticed and then made the call about a car being on fire near the end of Scrojegrah Road." RaalVile thought as he put the four newspaper articles, that he took from the December 7, 8, 9, and 11 newspapers, in a folder. "She's never had a bad driving day in her life, so I doubt if what happened was on her."

The buzzards that ran the morgue in his sister's town hadn't really done a full-on examination of her remains. They just gave her a quick look before slapping Death By Vehicle Accident on her certificate. Boucle Doder, his current personal physician, had taken the drive to Izucklin after he asked if he'd be kind enough to give his sister's remains a look; from what the man told him, Axtegae wasn't well at the time of her accident—his sister, who went through one bout of medical emergency after another during her kid years, and also had two bouts of breast cancer as an adult, could well of been claimed by the very disease that took her partner and child.

AxtegaeVile Majawie Surfeit, Niijika Bitani Vaatyfiff, and their son, LaquanilVile Tyvee Surfeit, had all been buried together in the cemetery that was behind his house nearly two days ago. His parents were probably doing a lot of embracing where they were... Axtegae's casket was the only one of the four that were buried to not be opened before burial; with her remains looking the way they did, it was mutually decided to keep the lid of her box closed.

"Should of done the same with Rosol's," RaalVile said as he slumped in his office chair. "Losing him was bad enough, but seeing the state that he was in when he died was worse."

With the deaths of his wife and daughters being so close together, he was wondering about how his brother was faring. Due to personal issues bogging him down, and one of his conquered realms calling his name for nearly a month, he wasn't allowed to put in any calls to Rosol's number much less swing by his place for a visit. If he knew that his brother was grieving as badly as he was, and that he was also family-abandoned, he would of dropped all of what bogged him down to go comfort him. A death in any family was bad and, in the case of his brother, who lost all of his family in a little over a month, he really had it rough. He should be kicking a bunch of asses for what happened; if someone was there to help Rosol through his ordeal he wouldn't of gone down but so much and, maybe, he wouldn't of come down with the disease that claimed his life.

He was on his way to supper when the call came in about his brother being admitted to Gordub Hospital. Something told him that eating wouldn't happen that night and, sure enough, after seeing what was in that hospital room, nothing of what was cooked, or placed on the table, went into his stomach. The receptionist had said for him to get to where his brother was and fast, which he tried to do. The teleporting was done right after the phone was dropped to its station; if the doors that lay to the hospital's front hadn't swung back as fast as they had, they would of been smashed to bits; his feet had no more touched the floor, or the stairs that wound up to the hospital's second level, before being picked up again... He was serious in getting to his brother's side. Sadly, Death, that old fucker who seemed to be following him and his around like a faithful dog would its master, had beat him there; when he entered the room that Rosol was in, all he saw was a lifeless body lying on the bed and a team of nurses shaking their heads. Rosol went just seconds before he was able to get to his side.

If not for one of the nurses, he would of thought that he entered the wrong room. His brother didn't look identifiable! His hair, which was quite greasy, and full of split ends, had grown to nearly his shoulders; there were bags and rings of black under and around his eyes; his square-shaped face, which was quite healthy and full fifty-two days before his passing, was gaunt... Them cheeks of his had definitely been showy on that face of his. His normally short nails were also long, and cracked on the ends. His brother was also lacking seventy-five pounds—it almost looked like a skeleton with skin lying on that table, that's how bad his brother looked! The fact that the colors of his brother's body were a shade lighter than normal was nearly overlooked by him; he hoped that Rosol was happy where he was... Not only did he have his wife and little girls back but he was with the other members of their family who died over the years.

A sort of protocol was already happening at the hospital—all patients that came in with "UA-1" were to be autopsied. It didn't matter if the family of the deceased said no or not; an autopsy was to be done for everyone who came in and then died from the ailment that, at the time, had yet to be exposed to the public. After his brother's autopsy was done, the preparing for his final sleep was started; even after having his hair washed and cut, and his face shaved of its beard, Rosol looked horrible. A lot of the participants to the funeral had wept openly; his second oldest son had especially been shook up after seeing the four caskets all lined up on their stands. If not for him, Malakay and his surviving children wouldn't of walked away from the cemetery after the funeral concluded—while he was holding himself half-together, even he was effected by the passing of the four of them.

"Have any of you been paying any attention to the news?" the blood that flowed through his body rose a degree or two when he remembered what his second oldest brother, who was now his only living brother, said some months ago. While Trobrencus's act of building an underground bunker, then moving himself and his otherwise healthy family into it, seemed silly, he saw good reason in it. He wondered for all of two seconds if his brother, and his family, were still alive before slapping the arm of his chair. Of course they were alive! Instead of being above ground, where the air was ripe with disease, Trobrencus took himself and his family to an extremely well-built bunker. Had Trobrencus not warned them about what was to come and had he not offered to take him and his family, Rosol and his family, and the others in their family in during the Dark Days of Disease that were looming over them?

"Instead of sitting on his ass, twiddling his thumbs and wondering when the next round of scraps will be played, Teluder should of taken an interest in what was going on in this galaxy." RaalVile thought as he stood then started pacing his office.

A ruler's job wasn't just to create hell for other worlds, or conquer and rule then create laws that gave civilians both benefits and headaches. They were suppose to look after their people. The key to a ruler's reign lay in how well maintained the people that they governed over; to him, Teluder Kakian had failed in doing this one chore that should come natural to one who did the conquering game. He wouldn't be caught dead sitting on his rump if a situation like this was going on in one of his realms. His medical boards would of been put to work right after word reached his ears about any amount of people dying off on one or more of the planets that he owned. A warning about what was going on would of been issued soon after what was going on was discovered. People would get assistance—they wouldn't just be left to their own advances in a situation that could turn into being a dire one! His sons were given the teachings on how to handle themselves in a situation like this—along with being taught how to look after their people, they learned how to approach potentially deadly disease-related situations that occurred in the realms that they conquered. Why the hell hadn't Teluder, the current ruler of his birth galaxy, done anything to alert his people to what was going on with this disease earlier than now and why, for the wonder, didn't he get on his medical board for not being halfway to nearly done in finding out what was going on and then getting a cure made for what was happening?

As he paced his office, he remembered what his great-grandfather once said on Teluder. He won't last long, was what the man said; he gave him a few hundred years before being ousted by a stronger, more experienced conqueror. From what he was told, Teluder Kakian was barely out of his early adult years when he swooped into the M-51 Galaxy. He was a young man who had no galaxies, or planets, to his name. When he set his sights on the M-51 Galaxy, a man by the name of Nejass Lognor was its ruler. After nearly a year of war, Nejass gave control over; Nejass, according to Poppa Lynk, hadn't put much effort in on the fight to retain the galaxy. He, for the most part, sat on the sidelines. While he sat in his luxurious apartment, sipping tea, or munching on cube-sandwiches, his armies fought and fell. Only after Teluder went after him did he do something—a fight that spanned for an hour, where little fighting and mostly words were spoken, occurred before the paper was signed. Nejass left the galaxy in a hurry afterwards. As far as he knew, no one had heard a word of him since.

"If Teluder wasn't such a laze in keeping his medical board working, or gave a care to what was going on in the front-lying sector of this galaxy, no one in my family would of succumbed to this disease." RaalVile said after stopping before the room's globe.

He considered the question on why his brother didn't try to leave the galaxy before coming up with an answer. While Trobrencus was a little crazy, and had a bit of an over extravagant air to himself, he was smart. Maybe he knew it wasn't wise for one to up and leave the galaxy? Maybe he knew that the window of opportunity to leave for somewhere safer had long since passed itself by. Instead of leaving, and putting others in danger of getting what was coming over their galaxy, he decided to build the bunker as a means to protect himself, his family, and the ones outside of the galaxy. With "UA-1" now known, he sure wished that he and his had followed Trobrencus into that hole of his; a whole lot less heartbreak would of been experienced if they did that, that was for sure.

While there was a lot of tension held between Trobrencus and their father, there was a lot of love and respect expressed between them that acted as a balance to it. Trobrencus, from what he was told, was a bit of a slacker during his kid years. Their father went after him a lot more than he did Rosol. Their father, while annoyed over the fact that Trobrencus inherited more of his mother's powers than his own, didn't take any of it out on him. Rosol and Trobrencus's maternal uncle, Tesdalan Yamubabba, was the one who mostly trained Trobrencus on how to use his powers; when he died, another man finished the job. His father, for the most part, sat on the sidelines during them training sessions; he only came in when he absolutely needed to, and he didn't say anything when Trobrencus was being taught the tricks of his powers. His father was the one who taught his brothers how to use their Energy powers, a sword, and, of course, how to position their body during a fight. With him, his father had the whole package to train. Instead of just inheriting his Energy powers, he inherited both his Energy and Elemental powers.

"And, of course, I passed both to two of my sons and one of my daughters." RaalVile said as he started fiddling with the globe. "I've lost two of them offspring to this dreaded disease; how many more will I find myself without when the cure's put out? How many more of my family will I lose? How many more grandsons, daughters, nieces, and nephews will I be without after this thing's beat?"

He had just given the wooden circle that depicted the planet that he was on a good twirl when the sound of one coughing started being heard from down the hall. He listened to the cough for all of a minute, hoping that it'd cease, and that it was nothing more than normal, and trying to put a name to its source, before deciding to leave his office.

December 12, 4:45 p.m.; Outside

The physician, he told himself, said that Riki's cough, and ensuing bout of the sniffles, was nothing out of the ordinary. Just something that he picked up from being out in the cold a day and a half ago. Nothing more or less. Malakay, as expected of any good-willing mother, had taken it upon herself to check their son's temperature at every twenty to thirty minute intervals; it was always coming back as normal—as it should be. With the diagnosis of a cold being made, and his son's temperature being normal, he shouldn't be worrying as much as he was about what was going on in his house.

A telecast on the symptoms of "UA-1" was given about two hours ago. He wasn't but so surprised over how slow they were in getting this out... His fury over how slow the government was in handling the situation with this disease was growing at almost every hour. Instead of waiting five days to put something out about the disease's symptoms, they should of put it out right after exposing the disease to the public. Someone from the military was interviewed at the time of the telecast's airing; the unsympathetic fool had said something about the ones who were exhibiting any of the just-shown symptoms needing to tie a white cloth or rag to the exterior part of their residence's front door. A caravan of military vehicles were scouting various towns, cities, and neighborhoods for them cloths; folk who were exhibiting the reputed symptoms of the disease were said to be picked up and then bused to a medical facility where treatment would be given for what they had—with his being a conqueror, he knew that this was a crock of shit.

While the ones who were being picked up were being taken to a medical facility for treatment, they weren't being taken for that sole purpose—they were unknowingly volunteering themselves for testing purposes. This was just one of many ways that the government went by collecting source material for tests—it was either collect by force, be honest about the testing then hope that the desired people would be kind enough to come in, collect after a certain someone died of the disease that was being studied, or do a masking of the real reason behind their wanting to remove the sick from their homes.

While his son's cough was alarming, and bad, it wasn't what UA-1 was said to produce. It was dry, not wet, and there were no evictions of viscus-like fluids, or blood, coming from him. He and Malakay had heaved sighs of relief after Boucle said that the cough was cold weather-related instead of disease-related. The very thought of someone showing up on their doorstep, demanding that they hand over their child, was both scary and offending—incapacitated by mind or not, Riki was his son... he wasn't about to let anyone take his boy from him or his wife.

As a way to keep himself busy, and away from the tv and radio, he made a few calls to the members of his family that were still living. The first was sent to the only sibling that he had that was still above ground. Saroka, who was two hundred and eighty-eight years younger than he, was scared, but doing well. Her husband, Andop Saatos, had just come in. A six-month supply of food was purchased from the nearby store; the two of them seemed to be taking the disease seriously. While Andop confessed to being a bit uneasy about what was going he said that he was holding himself up relatively well. His niece, Sibileenie, who was a mere five hundred and sixty-six years old, knew nothing of what was going on; she was going by her own in playing with her toys and driving her parents crazy.

Since they were fine, he wasn't putting but so much concern to them. Saroka was a smart girl; always was. His father was a right proud man after she did more than best her siblings in math and science—he'd never forget that raging volcano that she rigged up in the smaller kitchen of the castle, or the mess that happened after it went off. Their father, though thoroughly angered over how wrecked the kitchen was after it went off, wasn't but so rough in disciplining her for her "experiment".

Olia was the next to get a call from him. She and Shovot were said to be doing well; like Saroka and Andop, they did a stock-up on provisions after learning about the disease. He was a little concerned about the one that he called next. Varai, though healthy, and sounding to be good in spirits, expressed a concern that lay with her husband—Corran, for the last six hours, was complaining of a headache. Not only was he staying clear of Varai but he was refusing any and all medicine for what he was experiencing. He was also refusing the intake food and drink. Varai claimed that he was just scared over possibly having what was going around—honestly, so was he! If Corran had UA-1, then Varai needed to leave the apartment and fast, so not to contract what he had and remain healthy. Even though he expressed his desire in wanting her to do that, he didn't put but so much emphasis on it. Corran was Varai's husband; they were quite taken with one another, and Varai was a smart girl. He was sure that she'd go to a safer location if something came up with her husband without having to hear him telling her to.

"Shaam sounded right concerned about what's going on," RaalVile thought as he opened the door to let himself, and his dogs, out. "Ebaisha and Eblouissie are treating the situation like it's nothing; he's called, given them commands and orders, and they're still acting like everything's fine. Shaam's also concerned about Duru—with what's to come in the next six-plus months not being known, he's worried that he might not be able to do the things that he's use to doing."

A quick call to Ebaisha and Eblouissie was made afterwards. He was as stern, and no-nonsense, as could be with them to no avail. All of what he said to them went in one ear and out the other; his concern levels for them were probably as high as his son's were. While they were adults, and had the right to do what they wished to do whenever they pleased to do it, they still needed to proceed with caution. With the likes of UA-1 running amok in their small pocket of the Universe, no one needed to throw caution or concern out the window. In times like this, it was best to be mindful of just about everyone and anything that you came in contact with. He was going to do a lot of praying for them two granddaughters of his that night, he had a feeling.

With Trobrencus not being able to be reached, and most of the remnants of his family looking to be set for what was to come, he made the decision to take his dogs outside for some fresh air and unwinding time. No one stopped or asked him where he was going; he was just allowed to traverse down his residence's many hallways to the back door, which he had since left behind.

Some time to reflect on the history of his family was also needed to be done. With what was to come in the next few months, it was best for him to remember what he did on his family. Who knew, maybe it would calm his already overloaded nerves.

"The deepest rocks that scientists have found under the crust-layers of this planet were dated to being over fifty-four billion years old—that was the date placed for it and its galaxy's creation. My ancestor, who's one of the planet's original colonists, set down on this planet nearly three billion years ago. Soon after coming here, he was gifted the knowledge of Elemental powers, which he was quick to master." he thought as he picked up and then threw a stick. Shimsin, his male Saddleback Terrier—a breed that, one day, would be acquired by the humans and then given the name of Airedale Terrier—ran after it while his other dogs sat on their haunches.

It was the Age of Exploration—and, by some, the Age of Half-Immortality—when his ancestor and his brother decided to leave the planet that they were born and raised on. Due to a quarter of the Universe's known people being granted the gift of half-immortality, the chance to move from planet to planet, and galaxy to galaxy, could be done. His ancestor, TarkubVile SeurVil, and his brother, Scraao, left home just before their clan was wiped out—Vilanous was in shambles at the time; a quarter of the population left while the rest... Well, they died after the planet went ka-boom on them. Tarkub was two thousand and ninety-two while his brother was a little under one thousand, nine hundred, and forty; along with wanting to get away from their crumbling home-planet, they wanted to make a name for themselves and find a bit of stability that they weren't allowed to enjoy in their youths. They also wanted to explore the Universe around them. Tarkub, the calmer of the two, settled in right away while his brother, who didn't have that good of a temper, or a very good way of looking at things, didn't; while not much was known on his ancestor, it was known that he married about two hundred years after he arrived to Gamma Vile. It was also known that he put his brother in a cell for the rest of his life after he went on an anger-induced killing spree over not being able to do the powers that his brother was granted. Scraao wiped out two whole generations of his family before being apprehended; he lived for another five hundred years before dying.

Tarkub's thirdborn son, Lateeb, was the only one out of fifteen children to survive to adulthood. Tarkub was fast to discover that Elemental powers were a genetically linked power—of his fifteen children, nine inherited the use of what he was granted. The records claimed that Lateeb married two times; he and his spouses had four children each. The only child of Lateeb's to survive to adulthood was Splloxion, who, while described as being little more than a dub in the intelligence department, was the one to really get the Surfeit line going. Splloxion had just one known marriage to his name—he and his wife had a total of twenty children, with five of those surviving to adulthood. Rumamin, his sixth son, had just four children to his name. Vootaelo SeurVil was among the first to begin the act of pilferaging incoming stage wagons and space vessels of their goods; he stole an estimated twenty thousand dollars in goods before deciding to retire. His thirdborn son, Zasibaar, changed his surname to Serv right after discovering his father's past deeds. The age of conquering single planets started three generations later.

"A massive quake took almost all of BloobubVile Serv's family out. His youngest son, Salodir, and one of his daughters were the only ones to remain alive after the quake happened." RaalVile thought after Shimsin returned with the stick. His female Armant—a breed that would, thankfully, retain its name after being acquired by the human race—stood after his arm was drawn back. She took after the stick after he threw it. "Salodir had four sons, but only one survived to adulthood; BendolishiVile Serv conquered just sixty planets before calling it quits on the conquering game. He met his wife, Vinabi Jactol, right after coming home. They had twelve kids, but only four survived to adulthood."

The Nire Disease took out ViclotoVile SurVil and his wife of many thousands of years, Bowina Berinal. DubsalisVile SurVil, Vicloto's oldest son, died during the Roxamaz Plague, which claimed somewhere over seventy-five thousand people. Dubsalis's wife, Gretuba Shabie, died fifty years later of, what's believed, a broken heart. The Juhan Sickness claimed the lives of everyone in the DebonzVile Surfeet and Teratila Bendola, GlovinoVile Shurfeet and Fromatie Vreocho, and

ChaboVile Shurfeet and Rejalisa Nebolis families. OlozilVile Surfeet and Cicila Kobola, the parents of his great-grandfather, perished after getting Malpox; the cause behind the passing of LynkVile Surfeit and his only surviving son wasn't known while the passing of their great-grandson was caused by Spli.

"Diseases aren't necessarily bad things—they do usher in new eras." he said as he waited for Amayla to bring the stick back.

The age of conquering full galaxies started after the Murox Plague occurred. ChaboVile Shurfeet and his new wife, Rejalisa, were around to see the start of it. It was in this era that Chabo, who already had forty planets in two galaxies to his name, took the initiative to become a Galactic conqueror; the two galaxies that his planets were in were conquered by him—before calling it quits on the game, he conquered two more galaxies... one of which garnered him enough revenue and fame to last him the rest of his life.

Along with the Folk and Gospel Age, and the age of Free-Form Art, the age of the automobile started after the cure was put out for Malpox. Even though the two had a few of the early-run vehicles in their garages, his great-grandfather and grandfather weren't very interested in vehicles. The vehicles that they owned were just kept for show; they, for the most part, got around by either using a horse or horse-drawn buggy. They were still using that mode of transportation when his father was born; his father was the cause behind their "getting with it" on the automobile age. The man, from what he was told, gained a small interest in the vehicles that were put out on market after seeing one being driven down the road that the castle was once sitting beside; the two men were "forced" to adapt to the age so he could see and learn about the machines.

Even though the age of space travel was well established by the time he was born, the age of appliance creating and technological advancements was long in getting started—he and his siblings had all laughed themselves silly in watching their father, grandfather, and great-grandfather learn the ropes on how to use the telephone and other household appliances. His uncle Nuutalii was the one who helped them in getting to know most of the appliances that were just put on market—the man, while gay, was smart. Once a certain something was plugged in, he just stared at it for a span of either seconds or minutes before going to work in using it—while his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were smart in their own rights, they didn't have that type of intelligence to them.

The creation of cordless phones, mobiles phones, and Jazz music had only just been made known to the public when his parents died. There was no way in hell that he could keep up with the constantly evolving mobile phone... he still had the old, flip-bottom cellular that he got two hundred years ago. The cellulars that were being put out now, which had small screens, and pull-out keyboards, were a bit tacky to his eyes; he couldn't see one using such technology without running the risk of eye injury. The creation of the computer was done ten thousand years ago—he had yet to get-with-it on that device. It was an odd machine that he preferred to stay away from.

"Maybe diseases are needed for certain advancements in the lives of others to happen." he thought after Amayla returned with the stick. When he threw the stick again, Krayub, his male Boxer—another breed that would retain its name after being acquired by the human race—took after it. "They make room for the more intelligent people to make the impacts that they normally wouldn't be allowed to do with the likes of less intelligent people around."

He pondered this for a while before discarding it. With the exception of his two-month old grandson, each of the people who died in his family were smart and very with-it on that day's current technology. While some advancements in some fields did occur after diseases happened there were a lot of other advancements that took place during periods of prosperity and good health—the creation of the cordless phone, mobile phone, and Jazz music, for example, took place during such a time. No diseases were happening, nor had any diseases been beaten, at the time of them three items' creation. The same went with the computer.

"And not everyone in my family's been effected by every little disease that's happened in our Universe's history." RaalVile said aloud. "Poppa, Baba, and Papi, along with their families, lived through numerous diseases that caused major impacts to the populations of the Universe; though difficult at the start, they dusted themselves off then resumed the living of their lives after each disease was beat."

He nodded his head after saying this. The thought of his father and mother succumbing to Spli, the second to last disease that ran rampant in the Universe, was no more thought of before being cast to the side. He felt a lot better after remembering all of what he did. It felt like his conscience was cleared. His nervousness had definitely left him, that was for sure. He was in the process of bending to retrieve the stick that lay before him when the sound of someone screaming from within the house was heard. Shimsin's ears perked up; Amayla's back arched towards the sky; Krayub pushed his body up against his leg. His blood dropped a few degrees as he turned to look at the house that he would spend the next several days in before leaving. As fate would have it, the stick that was in his hand was dropped right when his wife threw one of the upstairs windows open; he was on his way to the house when she started yelling for him to come and fast.

December 12, 1:45 a.m.; Riki's Bedroom Chamber

"I just came around the corner and there he was... Scratching away, and causing all sorts of damage to his arm."

With his son's tendency to stand around, looking into space until someone came along to either tell him to move or move him themselves, some of his staff had taken to being a bit rough with him. In the span of two thousand years, he had fired somewhere over a hundred maids and butlers for their rough handling of Riki. A butler once pushed Riki clean over to his back—and just for his not stepping out of his way too. A maid had come close to breaking his son's arm and neck after knocking him down half of the staircase that wound up to the second level after his son refused to acknowledge or give her room to walk by—that woman was thrown out of the house fast after word on that occurrence reached his ears. On another occurrence, he came around the corner to find one of his more temperamental butlers getting ready to unleash holy hell on his son for his not getting up from the chair that he wanted to clean; this man was gearing a fist to swing... if not for his rushing over, Riki would of gotten a right bloody face.

He was trying his damnedest to pin the cause of his son's bruises and rashes on this. An overly tempered butler, or non-understanding maid, came upon his son standing around, doing his usual of staring into space, or taking up space in a chair or some other sit-on item that they had a desire to clean, and roughed him up enough to cause some damage to parts of his body.

Malakay came across Riki twenty-five minutes to five in the afternoon. Instead of doing his usual in looking into space, his son was indulging in the rare activity of self-grooming himself. Usually, Malakay was the one who bathed and did most of the grooming of their son; when she wasn't available to do them things, he stepped up to the plate in doing them. Riki's daily wears would be picked out by either he or his wife; he or Malakay would stand by while their son did the slow task of dressing himself. Since his son was in the state that he was in, either he or Malakay did the chore of tying his shoes. Not once had they given the order that their son be locked in a room after the clocks went off, signaling the start of the day, or be chaperoned around. Riki had free-roam of the house. When Malakay came across Riki scratching at his arm, she came close to throwing her arms up in a celebratory way—the idea of their son finally snapping out of his trance-like state, and coming around to acting like a normal person, had crossed her mind before the sight of what he was scratching at caught her eye.

"He stopped coughing, and sniffling, around the time supper was served." RaalVile thought as he entered the room that his son was sleeping in.

Yes, but the scratching had gotten worse. Riki was given a check-over by his mother, then by him, before being carted to Boucle's quarters. The diagnosis of the cold, dry air getting to his son's sensitive skin was made about ten minutes later. A tube of lotion was given then Riki and he went on their way; his son had damn near screamed himself hoarse during the first application of that lotion—it burned him, which he didn't much like. A steaming hot bath was given about two hours later, then another application with the lotion was made... which procured the same result in his son voicing his displeasure over his "medicine" causing his arms and legs to burn. Two more applications followed before the mutual decision to sustain further treatments until bedtime came around was made; Riki was only caught scratching himself twice since suppertime. Both he and Malakay had done their best to keep him from injuring himself and they also did their best to keep the idea of their son exhibiting another of the symptoms of UA-1 down.

"Other than the scratching, he had a healthy appetite—once Malakay said for him to eat, he ate... and he didn't stop after starting either." RaalVile thought as he reached for the switch that would turn the overhead light on. "Nothing was left on his plate, and nothing was left in his cup."

The room was very much the same as it was on the day that Riki's accident occurred. The stone floor was warm to the touch—the new, state-of-the-art, heating system, that was said to keep a residence's hardwood or stone floors warm, was purchased right after his name was signed to the document that said he was the new owner of the house and its surrounding forty acres. A series of pipes ran under each floor of the house; thanks to the temperature of the floor being kept at a consistent sixty-nine degrees, no one who walked around without foot-ware would get cold feet.

A multi-brown, natural fiber braided round rug was in the center of room. The bed's frame, which was placed directly across from him, and was about half-on the rug, was made out of a hollowed-out sea mine. The mattress, that was on the frame, was firm and about six months old. A brown and aqua blue dresser sat to the room's far left; the gears, that were moving on it, acted as its handles—his son gained a love for moving gadgets, and select forms of furniture that had pieces of moving machinery on them, as a very young child; as an adult, he retained this love of his. The bedside table that was to the right of the bed had the same moving gear-handles on it.

A photograph of his son from before the accident occurred was over the dresser. Due to his son wearing a bathing suit, he could see the well-sculpted muscle that he once possessed on his arms and legs. Riki, though intelligent, had lacked a bit of confidence in himself when it came to going out to actually conquer a galaxy; it took him a long while before finally scrounging up the courage to get involved in the game. A mere year before his ill-attempted first conquest was done, he went around, asking certain members of the family questions that pertained to how one went by conquering a galaxy. His brothers, then he and his uncles, gave him more than enough verbal information on that topic... They were all shocked after learning about the accident—the teachings on how certain enemies did dirty tactics to bring down the leader of the opposing army weren't given, nor even thought of. He still slapped himself for not warning his son about being mindful of crossing certain bridges and other obstacles. If he told his son to be wary of bridges, Riki might not of turned into what he was.

He looked at the photograph for just a second before going towards the bed that his son was sleeping on. A pipe-lamp, that utilized a simple soda bottle as its bulb, was on the bedside table's surface; he, for no reason at all, turned it on by pressing the button that was on its side. After turning the lamp on, he sat beside his son, who was on his side, snoring lightly, and looking quite well-to-do in whatever world he was currently dreaming of.

"I was afraid of this happening," he suddenly remembered the doctor charged with his son's care saying after Riki's alarming symptoms of mental degradation were spoken of. "With what he went through, and saw, and the shock expressed over what happened, I'm not surprised to hear that he's had a mental slip. At best, he'll experience a mild one; at worse, he'll do a full one."

"Malakay and I have been speaking with him on what happened. We haven't been acting like it didn't happen, and we've been trying to get him to speak of it. We want him to heal both mentally and physically, Doctor. Is there a way to prevent his mental capacities from slipping further?" he remembered saying.

"The best I can say in this situation is for you to keep doing that—be there for him; don't abandon him. He's really the only one to make the decision on whether he wants to be there mentally or not." this doctor said.

"A near-vegetable or not, I still love him." RaalVile said as he smoothed his hand over his son's shoulder; he then started fixing the diamond patterned, brown and blue comforter, which was nearly on the floor of the room. "As the Gods as my witness, I'll never abandon or let him g—"

The act of pulling the comforter to his son's neck had caused him to notice something. Riki was dressed in a cream and dark brown pajama set—his usual set, which was cleaned every morning. His son was sleeping peacefully; there was no cough, or hint of the sniffles, and he looked non-bothered by the irritated skin that plagued him earlier. What he noticed was on the skin, just below his son's jawline. The bump was small, almost unnoticeable, and was a dark green color. He looked at the bump for just a second before shooting up to his feet.

"Boucle!" RaalVile yelled.

"First the cough, then the sniffles, then he started scratching his arms and legs..." his mind screamed at him.

"Boucle!" he yelled after reaching the open door of his son's bedroom chamber.

"Now the bump to his neck—except for the sniffles, all of this coincides with UA-1." his mind said. "He's exhibiting the signs of the disease! He's contaminated! Get yourself and your wife away from h—"

 _"No!"_ he screamed at himself. His wife was yelling, and asking what was wrong, and his personal physician was nowhere in sight; with what he just saw, he wanted more than anything for his employed doctor to come to his son's side. He was gearing up to yell for his physician again when his son sat up. He turned towards him, then watched in horror as his body started convulsing; this alarming new symptom of Riki's caused him to flee from the room. He was quick in going to his physician's chamber and then wrenching him from his too-deep sleep.

December 13, 10:35 a.m.; Riki's Bedroom Chamber

She would of been deeply offended if the spheres were out, warming the landscape and making everything as bright as can be. Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about this happening. The screen of her son's bedroom window was being blown in by the torrential rain that was falling and the winds that were blowing. The spheres were a no-show in her neck of the woods that day; it was cold, dreary, rainy, and windy all morning long... a most fitting weather phenomenon for what was going on in her home, she thought and believed. Neither she nor her husband had checked to see what was to be expected that day—with what was discovered last night, they did nothing but sit around Riki, who was very, very sick.

"No! No, let me go, Raal! Let me—" Malakay remembered yelling after her husband came up with the physician, who was still in the PJ's.

"Get in there, Boucle!" her husband yelled after grabbing her around the middle. Mr. Doder, instead of going straight into her son's room, had stood idly by; thanks to the door being wide open, she was able to see Riki's convulsing... and the deep-set fear that filled his eyes. Her husband had only just managed to keep his grip on her while reaching over to grab and then throw the physician into the room; the man went to work, and fast, afterwards.

The event of what happened last night would be hardwired into her conscience for the rest of her life. Instead of being the frantic and hysterical parent, she should of been the calm and quiet one—so not to cause further fear in her child, and cause the physician any anxiety. Even though she knew this, she still continued to thrash around in her husband's grasp and scream and yell out for him to let her go. She had her actions to thank for the cut that was on her son's right arm, and for the physician having a mild limp, and for Riki's lamp not being on its accustomed place on the table. Boucle only left the room twice... to get a few bags of fluids, and some injectible medication; the man was in the process of administering the medicine that'd stop her son from convulsing when she broke free of her husband's grip—a woman was fast when it came to the health and relative safety of her young... Raal didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to prevent her from charging into the room, or knocking the physician over, for that matter. The strong set of arms that Raal possessed had just settled around her waist again when her hand was put to the bleeding cut that the needle, and her action in knocking Boucle over, created; she still had her son's greenish colored blood on her hand.

Instead of being smart in dragging her from the room, and then closing and locking the door behind them, Raal just pulled her to the room's far side. She, a parent, who should of been calm and quiet instead of frantic and hysterical, continued to thrash around; along with threatening to leave her husband, she threatened to do bodily harm on him if he didn't take his arms from around her. Instead of caving in, Raal remained steadfast in holding her back. Her husband had a bruised cheek, and black eye, because of her—due to what was going on in the room that they were in, she couldn't blink, much less tell him how sorry she was over how she acted towards him.

"His temperature's normal—ninety-eight-point-six." she remembered the physician saying after the medicine took effect in both calming her son and stopping his convulsions.

With the medicine having done its desired effect on her son, things in the chamber mellowed out. Even though Raal's grip was released from her, he didn't go forward with her to be at their son's side. She went towards their son, then sat beside him before starting the process of trying to tend the still-bleeding cut that she caused to his arm. Raal moved only when two minutes passed; instead of taking a seat beside her, or going around to sit on Riki's other side, he went around the bed to speak to the physician.

"Do me, my wife, and our son a favor in not touching the growth that's on his neck." even though this request was made in a mere whisper, she was able to hear it loud and clear. It caused her heart to skip more than two beats, and it also caused her eyes to water. She went to work in looking for the growth; only after finding it did the tears start to fall.

Her husband's request, and her discovery of the growth that he spoke of, had caused Mr. Doder's actions in looking after their son to become even more careful-based. He refused to bring his hands anywhere near his face, and he refused to breathe in a normal way—his breathing had come out in a sort of whistle the entire time that he was finishing his care of her son, and he was nearly using the tips of his fingers when anything on her son's body needed to be touched. After checking her son's other vitals, then seeing if he was truly stabilized, and comfortable, the man ran off to the bathroom that was adjacent the room; neither she nor her husband needed to know what he was doing in there. The water in the sink was run and the bar of soap was used before the man returned to the room. Only after his hands were cleaned of "contamination" did he ask to see her and Raal in private.

The earlier diagnosis on her son having a cold, and then a case of irritated skin, was discarded for something else right after she and Raal finished the trek from the room. The physician had given the worse bit of news that a parent in her current day and age didn't want to hear—Riki, the oldest of her three, biological children, was A+ for having UA-1. Somehow, somewhere, her son contracted the very thing that was killing people in their galaxy.

Instead of dropping to her knees, then bawling her eyes out like any other mother would after getting such horrible news, and instead of going to work in being a nurse for her son, she just looked off into space. Thoughts of her son, and of how much longer she had left to be with him, were processed for all of thirty seconds before the decision to go to one of the nearby chambers for a chair was made. Her husband didn't stop her from going into the chamber that was two-down from the one that they were in, nor did he stop her from going into Riki's bedroom when she returned with the chair. Her rump had no more touched the chair's seat before Raal entered the room with a similar chair.

The cold, numb feeling that she was feeling started being felt right after the new diagnosis on what was going on with her child was given. Not a word was spoken between her or her husband; the still-present physician had remained quiet ever since giving them the word on what was wrong with Riki.

"He's my first baby... I had two others, that I lost to miscarriage very early on in the pregnancy, before meeting and then marrying Raal." Malakay thought as her son's normal-moving chest started to move in a slow, rhythmic way.

Issues with money, family, and her personal life had kept her from going off to get the education that she dreamed of getting since entering her early teens. After high school, she mostly just worked small-paying jobs, or sat at home, watching her ailing mother and father refuse to get the medical treatment for their back and lower extremity-related issues and cancer. Most of the money that came in went towards the medication that they got for their ailments; the little that was left over was used for the monthly bills, and pantry. Three of her four siblings did as much as they could to bring end's meat home to, really, no avail. Once that paycheck was cashed, and then put in their pockets, it was sucked out; either a bill collector called, asking for payment on a utility bill that wasn't paid in weeks or months, or their parents' medication needed to be purchased—over the years, she found that the utility bills could be put off until a later date; the medication for her parents' ailments had to be paid off in full before it could even be brought home.

By the time her father passed away, they were in dept up to their eyeballs. The mass amount of dept, that they were already fighting, was only upped a few thousand dollars after his funeral; mother lived for another twenty years before finally going in her sleep. Another dept landed on her and her siblings after her funeral occurred. By the time her mother died, she was with a young chap who, she discovered a bit too late, wasn't nothing but a joke. Even though the man moved into the family home with her, he didn't have any desire to help her, or her siblings, pay off their substantial bills or, for that matter, go out to get a job. He also refused to do anything that required any sort of effort—he just wanted to sit on the couch, watch tv, munch away on junk food, and, of course, have sex. The fifteen year relationship came to a close after two pregnancies, which resulted in two miscarriages at four weeks and six days and twelve weeks and two days, occurred; things only started looking up for her and her siblings after one of their parents' insurance policies was approved for payment.

Of the hundred grand that was paid to them, $45,056 went to the bill collectors. The old home was fixed, then sold; before going their separate ways, they split the remainder of the insurance policy, and what was made from the house being sold. She was fast in going to Yeyomaar City—Alibai University, which was said to be the best medical university on the south-western side of the planet, was there; after everything cleared up, she went to get the education for her dream job. Even though it was hard, she persevered.

Graduation from Alibai University happened about three weeks before she and Raal met. The resumés for one who wanted to work in medicine, which she did more than bust her can in filling out two nights earlier, were just slipped into the mailbox that was outside of the Yeyomaar City's only postal building when her eye caught the being that would, in nearly three years time, become her husband. Raal was on his way to his car; he just came from seeing his lawyer about something that revolved around a vehicle collision that he was apart of two weeks earlier. If not for Raal's action in turning towards her, or taking a step out onto the street, they never would of spoken to one another; in a lot of ways, she owed the driver who side-swiped him for their chance encounter.

"Even though the car wasn't speeding, it caused some damage that warranted some medical treatment. Raal's tailbone was busted all to heck and, thanks to the tires on the car's right side being driven over his foot, he sustained a badly broken right foot." Malakay thought after watching Boucle do his once-hourly checking of her son's pulse, which, she knew, was dropping for the last hour and a half. "I rushed over then went to work; the rest is history."

Raal and Frahfrie, from what she was told, were married for a right long span of nearly twenty-one thousand years before finally making the decision to have children. Their marriage was full of love and fond events until Raal's discovery of Frahfrie making a hefty withdrawal from his safe for something that she wouldn't disclose the purpose of; about five years of fighting between them happened before an agreed upon divorce was made. Raal was single for all of twenty-seven years before meeting her; feelings of romance formed between them almost at once. Raal actually asked for her number right after the mending of his foot, and tailbone, were done. After nearly three years of dating, they were married; instead of having her move into his place, or him moving into her small, two-bedroom apartment, Raal went and purchased a new house for them.

The house that Raal purchased for them was big enough to accommodate him, her, about four or five guests, and any new additions that they had. Riki, Varai, and Vlala were born and raised under that roof, which was still up in the district of Walrryn; even though Zaal, Shaam, and Olia had homes of their own, they were frequent come-by and occasional night-staying visitors of theirs. Raal's first batch of kids were asking them for all of fifty years when they'd find themselves as having a younger sibling or two nipping at their heels; Riki was born fifty-three years after her and Raal's marriage—due to her husband's schedule in conquering the Leporis Galaxy, and having to deal with the matters that followed, followed by events that occurred in the family that either kept him from being at home and in bed or low in spirit, they weren't concentrating on having any children during their early years of marriage. After everything settled down, and things started looking up in the family, they started the task of filling some of the rooms that were in the house. Though it took a while, the final result that came from their attempts was a boy, who was born eight months, one week, and six days after conception.

"He had four, stubby horns on his head, and was long and skinny—but he was perfectly healthy." Malakay remembered. "It didn't take long for him to gain weight, or get fussy. Found myself as having to tend him while sitting down; his fussiness dropped to a more comfortable level after he reached two hundred and fifty years of age."

Before the accident that caused Riki to be in his current state, he was quite the gifted swimmer. He loved being in or around the pool as a child, teenager, and young adult. Once he hit the water, it was hard to get him out. She either had to yell for him to come inside three times or his father found himself as going out to retrieve him—as was natural, Riki's skin had always been pruned up by the time he was removed from the pool. Raal sometimes called their son 'Fish-Boy' after plucking him from the pool. No discipline was given after each retrieval that took place at their old home; Raal just took their son from the pool than brought him in. Along with being called 'Fish-Boy', Riki also had to endure being called 'Raisin Brother' by Zaal and Shaam and 'Brother Prune' by Olia, Varai, and Vlala.

"Zaal, Shaam, and Olia were marvelously gentle with Riki—none of them treated him roughly, or kept him away when they came over for a visit." she thought as she stretched her arm forward. She took one of her son's hands, which was alarmingly hot, and seemed to be pulsating with the sickness that was traveling its many veins, into her own then resumed the task of sitting quietly and calmly.

And so had Raal. Not once had Raal struck their child in the wrong way, or got on him verbally in the wrong fashion. If Riki needed discipline, he got it in the normal way. Even during Riki's, and Varai's and Vlala's, schooling days, Raal remained nice and pleasant with him. Riki, she recalled, was a little slow in math and science... but he wasn't daft in them, and he actually did more than excel in his history, english, and language lessons. Raal was such a boaster when it came to speaking of their children; even though Varai and Vlala encountered considerable difficulties in their language lessons, he still talked about them. And there was absolutely no comparing of their children to Zaal, Shaam, and Olia either; she admired her husband for his kindness, understanding nature, and for his not indulging in comparing one of their children to someone else's.

From what she was told, her husband's father, who she didn't have the honor of meeting, was one to raise his offspring hard—by keeping them up long hours to train with either a sword or their powers, and to study the books. Raal had once told her that he and his brothers were given three to four nap-periods a day that spanned around an hour to two hours just to keep up with their father's training and schooling schedules. No coffee, or caffeinated drinks, were consumed by them during their childhoods; they were given normal beverages and, with the exception of Rosol, who was constantly told to over-eat, they were also fed normal meals—the ones that would keep them both energized and alert during the periods that they were being schooled/trained and, of course, healthy. Raal wasn't like that with Riki, Varai, and Vlala. The children were in "school" from nine a.m. to five in the afternoon; normal bathroom breaks were openly allowed; and three, brief, breaks for sustenance were taken at eleven-thirty, two, and then four. Raal, instead of giving his lessons fast, and being mean in yelling or punishing their children for their inabilities to keep up with his lessons, or flourish after being given them, had taught their children slowly and in the polite sense, so they wouldn't be left hanging or not know what was being taught to them, and so they wouldn't go around thinking that they were constantly doing wrong when they were doing right.

"Zaal, Shaam, and Olia got the chance to get to know their grandparents, while my children weren't. Spli claimed the both of them before I became a fixture in their son's life. From what Raal's told me, Iack and Dablonie adored their grandchildren... and enjoyed just about any opportunity that came by to see them." she thought right when her son turned to look at her.

She couldn't help but smile. Her son was sure a handsome cuss! A long face, that boasted a strong jawline and high cheekbones—which he inherited from his father; her son couldn't of gotten his face from her, that was for sure. His chin sported a mild cleft to it. His brow was mellow, but firm in structure. Her son was really the only one in four generations to sport more than one set of horns on his head; even in his current state, they were strong, and smooth. The near-black color of the horns that he possessed had lightened over the hours—with her son battling his sickness, the blood that was being channeled in them had thinned out. The horns were still curvy, regardless of the lack of blood-flow that was in them. When her son moved his head away from her, she was able to take in the thing that her husband noticed. She looked at this protuberance... this disgusting boil, for all of a second before forcing herself to look at something else.

As the clock that was on the room's right-side wall ticked away the minutes, going from 10:35 to when her son's final breath was taken, she thought about the other mothers that were out there in the M-51 Galaxy. The paper had said that over a hundred thousand had succumbed to UA-1; how many of that number were children? How many mothers had sat and done as she was? How many mothers had experienced the hopelessness that she was experiencing? Here she was, a nurse, with more than fifteen thousand years under her belt at Muhclir Hospital, who was powerless to stop her child from succumbing to the sickness that he was battling. She had already experienced the empty feeling that overcame a woman after one of her young died before them—with Vlala's passing, a piece of her left her. Raal, though dealing with his own grieving demons, wasn't allowed to comfort her; a piece of heart was taken from her and she just wept and wept and screamed and...

While Vlala's passing was different—she wasn't there to witness her going, or say goodbye as she took her last breath, or comfort her during her final moments of possessing the body and the life that she helped in giving her—she was still badly effected by it. One of her babies had left her. She figured that the feeling of emptiness was another thing that she had in common with all the other mothers out there; the anger that she felt towards this disease was also something that she and the other mothers who lost a child of theirs had in common, she presumed.

While she had a valid reason to be angry, she had no one to take that anger out on. She couldn't get mad at Boucle—he was doing as he should. Instead of abandoning her child, and giving the stern suggestion that he be locked in his chamber to die on his own, he was at her son's side. No suggestions on what they should do in this situation was given; Boucle was just as quiet as can be. With nothing at his disposal to use to help her son in getting over his illness, all he was able to do was check on him. She couldn't get angry at Raal—he didn't know that UA-1 was happening, or that their son would get it. If Raal knew, he would of gotten them from the planet, and galaxy, and fast. She couldn't be angry at herself, or Riki; while she could grow angry at the disease, she couldn't act out or even disclose her anger towards it. UA-1 was a disease; it had no telephone number, or address. All she could really do was repress her anger, which she knew was just as unhealthy as can be. One who repressed his or her emotions put themselves, and the ones around them, in danger of the eventual explosion, where all of them repressed emotions came out at once. Fights occurred, which caused the feelings of both the emotion repressor and the ones around him or her to be hurt; bodily harm of the who repressed his or her emotions, and of the ones that he or she was around, was sometimes done after them repressed feelings came out too.

"Zaal took Riki out on a hunt when he was two thousand, nine hundred, and ninety." she thought before the clock's minute-dial landed on the number 8. "Riki broke his arm on that hunt, and Zaal was fast in mending what he could; what he wasn't able to mend with his powers he wrapped. Riki had a series of sticks on either side of his wrist when he came home; even though he was in pain, he was full-spirited."

Her son going off to get his out-of-the-house educations, which caused her to experience a mild emotional period that caused her husband more than a little headache; her son's achievements during his schooling days; Raal training their son to use his powers, and how to use the sword and other battle-worthy weapons; Zaal and Shaam finding Riki weaseling himself into their brother brawls; Zaal and Shaam taking Riki on their hunting trips, or to the towns where they hung out with their friends; Riki going around, asking her husband, Zaal and Shaam, and then Rosol and Trobrencus, about certain things that went along with conquering galaxies; her fears over losing her son during his first conquest, followed by the event that cost him his testicles, and led to him being what he was now... It was all thought of before the thing that she and her husband were waiting for happened.

All thoughts ceased happening after these occurred. Riki's eyes fluttered twice, then went still. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth, and his left nostril; a yellow-white, viscus-like fluid started coming from the nostril that wasn't bleeding; his breathing grew quite raspy for a few seconds before evening out; her son's hand clamped down on her own for just ten seconds before relaxing. Her son's chest stopped doing its slow, rhythmic movements right when the minute-dial of the clock moved to the 8 number. Boucle was in the process of putting the end of his stethoscope to her son's chest when Raal rose from his chair. Her husband, the father of the child who just left the Universe, left the room in a sort of daze; a loud sob escaped him just before he was away from the bed.

Boucle had just given his head a shake, and then checked the clock that was on the wall, when she cracked. She screamed out her cries as she threw herself over her son's body. She kissed her son on his cheek and chin a few dozen times before lying on him for the longest of time then finding the strength to sit upright. Boucle was slow in bringing the comforter up; even though he draped it over her son's body, then left the room, she remained with her son for another fifteen minutes before doing the same.

December 14, 3:40 p.m.; Outside

A full day had fallen since his son died and he, as any good father was expected, had yet to recover from it. The events that occurred during it had yet to be come to terms with as well. Instead of staying in the room, and comforting his wife, who just lost another of her children to the thing that was just made known to the public, he left for his office. The activity that he started doing after Nihir and Stogku's passing was done after he entered the room—he was very physically sound, and he did more than his usual in the gym each day, so the activity of pacing a room wasn't needed... Up to Nihir and Stogku's passing, he hadn't indulged in the act of pacing any of the rooms that were in his home. If he needed to have a workout, he did so in the gym or, if it was something sexual that ne needed, he did it with his wife in bed; while he had a lot on his mind, he wasn't one who utilized pacing to express what was bogging him down. Like any other man, he kept his emotions either to himself or well away from others; while the act of going to his office to grieve over his son's loss was normal, the act of pacing the room while he did it wasn't.

It took him two hours before his act of pacing his office stopped. Instead of leaving his office, to see how his wife was doing, and maybe see about finally giving her some comfort in their dark time, he found himself as taking the chair behind his desk out. No crying was done after he sat down; he just thought of his son. He wasn't aware of what he did between then and when he went to bed.

Malakay had long since slipped under the covers when he decided to take in a few hours of sleep—which were plagued with nightmares of his not just losing Riki but nearly everyone in his family, his wife included in the mix. He was up and about long before the clock went off; along with turning the piece off, so it'd not disturb his wife, plans for his son's final rest started being made.

One of his staff were given the order to dig a grave near the front of the cemetery just eight hours ago. Due to the rain, this order wasn't done until now. A mortician was sent for; though he thought that the preparing of his son's body was done too hastily, the task was done and quite efficiently too. A brown-gold coffin, with dark gray trim, and a gold satin interior, was ordered during the mortician's preparing of his son's body for its final rest. The bed that his son would rest in for eternity arrived at noon; his son was put in it swiftly, but carefully. Boucle had taken it upon himself to make the calls to the remnants of his family; everyone was upset over the loss, Shaam, Olia, and Varai especially so. According to his physician, Shaam just about cracked after being told about his brother's passing. Olia did more than drop the phone after learning of Riki's decease—a scream-based sob, followed by the sound of the phone being dropped, followed by a woman mumbling, and making all sorts of groaning sounds; that was what his physician described to him after getting off the phone with her. While Varai conducted herself a little better than her siblings, she did express a bit of emotion after being told the news of her brother's passing.

"Fuckin' disease!" RaalVile cursed at the invisible killer that was responsible for his oldest son's, youngest daughter's, and now youngest son's deaths. "We didn't ask for you, and we definitely don't want you. Take the hint and leave. Scram. Get. Go bug some other galaxy or, better yet, just disappear."

The air had quite a nip to it, which he was more than enjoying. He could just see the outline of the man who was in the cemetery. The pendulums of just about all of the house's clocks were stopped after his son's passing; a majority of the staff either went home or to their chambers for a while before returning to resume work. He was glad to see that they were being respectful to him and his during this dark time—no act of disrespect, or disobedience, needed to be seen or thrown his way right now. At the moment, he just wanted to be alone. Think his own thoughts, weep his tears in private, and come to terms with what just happened; that was what he needed right now.

Most would do the "throw-out" thing as a way to recover from a passing of a relative, while others would put their just-deceased relative's things in a box then donate them to some charitable organization. He and his family, for the last two hundred thousand years, practiced a form of item retention—the things that their deceased relatives, or ancestors, used or kept were retained and then either displayed in their original states or, if they were especially old, or fragile, looked at before being placed in air-sealed boxes, which were then placed in a safe place in one's attic. This was his family's way of showing proper respect to their dead relatives, and ancestors; it was also a good way of their retaining the memories of their loved ones. When one got rid of their kin's things, the memories that revolved around them became fragmented... It became difficult to remember certain things on the family member who was no longer around.

The chair that his son—his chip off the old block; one of the children that he loved and cherished so much—sat in during mealtime was still in its appointed station at the dining room table. Neither he nor Malakay, who he hadn't really seen since waking from his nightmare-clogged sleep, had ordered for it to be removed. No order of such caliber would be given out; like with Riki's bedroom chamber, and all of what was in it, the chair would remain where it was. It would be shaming his son's good memory if any of his things were tossed or given away... and it'd just about crush him and Malakay if anything of their son's was gotten rid of.

"The castle, where more than two generations of Surfeits have been born and raised in, is full of retained items." RaalVile thought as he sat back in the chair that was on his back porch. "Baba Wex's baby chamber, along with the chambers that he used as a toddler, child, teenager, and then adult, are still intact, as are the chambers that Papi used in them same time periods."

The chambers that he and his siblings used were also intact. Sometimes, whenever he or Rosol went over for a visit, they'd mosey on up to them, or to one that was used by their relatives. Rosol was keen on taking Heviha and Vataka to the ones that he had; he'd speak on them rooms, and on some of the things that he did while having them, right after entering them. In some ways, he did the same with his children; even though the castle was in Trobrencus's name, he never stopped anyone from taking a walk to Memory Lane. Even he, from time to time, indulged in the act of visiting them rooms.

"Wonder if Trobrencus has a sort of radio in that bunker of his." he thought. The sight of one of his cats scurrying from the small door that was built into the bottom portion of the back door of his residence gave him a temporary distraction; this cat shot out of the house as if it saw a ghost, which gave him a momentary scare. "He's probably gnawing at his nails if such a piece was in his possession; worry over what's going on with us probably has him in its grasp."

The worrying, for his second oldest brother, would give way to extreme distress after the cure for UA-1 was made and then put out to the surviving masses of their galaxy. After Trobrencus left that bunker of his, then started taking in the situation that he left behind, he'd grow very emotional—even though he was a tough as nails type of guy, Trobrencus sometimes let his emotional side show. Trobrencus was much like him—a man big on family. His second oldest brother would exhibit a lot of emotion after hearing of Zaal's, Suha's, Ofnavat's, Axzah's, Vataka's, Nihir and Stogku's, Paegslar's, Heviha's, Vlala's, Axtegae's, Niijika's, Laquanil's, and Riki's deaths... The event of what would happen after Trobrencus learned of Rosol's death was what worried him the most.

"Even though they fought like cats, Rosol and Trobrencus were closer than most brothers get." RaalVile thought.

Which was only natural. While he was close to them, it was evident that their relationship was of a high quality type. They only had themselves to contend with until his birth, which occurred one thousand, three hundred and one thousand years after their own; when one got the two of them together, or noticed how they were when they were around only themselves, it was very noticeable on how close they were to one another. He was expecting for his shoulder to be put to use after the cure was put out—there was no way in hell that he wanted his only surviving brother to go in the way that Rosol did.

"Bahne was around four months along in her pregnancy when she entered Trobrencus's shelter," he thought as his eye, yet again, was pulled towards the animal door that was on the back of his residence—Koke, his female, Exotic large-eyed shorthair cat, was the first of his three cats to exit his house; Deke, his female Folded eared cat, was coming out now... and in the exact same way that Koke, who was four years older than her, had.

A typical Surfeit pregnancy ran a span of eight months and two weeks. To his knowledge, only Shaam went over that—nine months, three weeks, and four days; that was how long he spent in the womb. Along with getting the usual letters from family, all expressing him well-wishes in his conquest, and to be careful and mindful of where he stepped, and what he did, and who all he placed trust on, he got a plethora of letters from his then-wife. The last letter from her had put a merry scare in him—along with saying her usual, Frahfrie also said something about not feeling any movement in her belly for nearly a week... and about her belly gaining a rock-hard feeling to it. He wasted no time in finding and then grabbing one of the phones that were in his ship after reading that letter; his old physician was given the order to induce his wife and then call him with the news of what happened next. Other than Frahfrie needing to be cut for Shaam to pass through, nothing abnormal or hideously bad happened during or even after the birth. The Websiren Galaxy fell to his capable hands a week and a half after the birth; upon returning home, he found a perfectly healthy wife and newborn baby waiting for him.

Bahne would be nearing the seventh month of her pregnancy, so she had, at least, another month to month and a half to go before giving birth.

"If she's still alive, that is."

He slapped the arms of his chair. Had he not already deduced that his brother, and his family, were doing fine? A few days ago, he did believe, he came to the understanding that Trobrencus and his wife, and their two, little girls, were doing well. Had his brother not put six months of heavy-duty work in on that shelter of his? Had his brother not worked his ass off to ensure his family a proper area to reside in during times of trouble? An air-tight, steel top was put to the thing, which should prevent any type of airborne diseases from getting in to tamper with anyone who was inside. Everyone who was in it was probably doing well; maybe going a little stir crazy, and feeling a bit of worry over what was going on above ground, but doing fine.

"Ko—you're usually one to want to stay indoors, girl." he said after the oldest of his cats, who had an oval-shaped, massive head, that had a rounded forehead, full cheeks, a short, broad, round muzzle, and a short, broad nose that came to a pronounced stop in it, sat between his feet. He scratched the cat under her strongly structured chin for a few seconds before stroking the dense, fluffy, erect fur that was on her back. This cat was a very white color that was nearly blinding; upon seeing her in one of the pet stores in Arawak, he had to have her. As was custom of the breed, she had large, round, and well-spaced eyes that were a deep amber color.

While more of a dog person, he did like the peaceful nature, and calming essence, of a cat. His father had nine cats at one time; as a boy, he'd sometimes find all but the big, LaPerm sleeping on the end of his bed when he woke up. If his father's cats didn't sleep with him, they slept with his parents—the cats, for some reason, didn't get along with Nihir, Saroka, or Axtegae and they flat-out refused to have anything to do with Rosol and Trobrencus. His father had once said that a cat was good on deciding one's personality, and that it liked to spend time with ones who were more on the calm and predictable side than those who weren't. Even at his present age, he still didn't know if what his father said was true or not—the man's dogs, in stark contrast to the cats, had preferred Trobrencus and Saroka to him, Rosol, Nihir, and Axtegae.

"Deke," he said after his other cat jumped on his lap.

While Deke and Koke looked very eerily alike, there were some differences that did tell them apart. Deke's ears didn't only fold over but were also small and smooth on the edges; while his face was round, like Koke's, it was smaller and much more refined. Deke's legs were shorter than Koke's too. The well-rounded eyes of the cat that was on his lap were a bright blue color; he had gray, blue, and white fur that was heavily striped. Like Koke, Deke was fixed; while it was only natural for a cat to breed and have offspring, he didn't want all the mess that went along with breeding cats to be going on in his house.

 _Meeeeeeeeooow!_

A crack of thunder was heard when his third cat bolted from the house. He watched as the animal raced from the door, then down the stairs, then hid under one of the suspended flowerbeds that was twenty feet from the porch. While Dolksus was six months old, he was nearly double that of Koke and Deke. He had red fur that was long and soft; his tail was nothing more than a little bob on his body. The eyes that looked out from the flowerbed were a yellow-green color. He looked at the cat for a little while before standing; instead of going to retrieve Dolksus, who looked both scared and miserable under his water-dripping shelter, he took Koke and Deke inside. He had no more put the cats down before finding himself as having to run after them. The cats just bolted from the animal door, then "hid" themselves under the chair that he was previously sitting in. He took the cats up then returned them to the house; the "game" that they were playing was resumed after he put them on the floor. After four more times of chasing them back to the back porch, then retrieving them from under the chair, he decided to crate them.

"Malakay lost her two cats three weeks ago. They just ran out of the front door, then charged to the street. A passing motorist neither slowed down, stopped, or gave Malakay, or me, any consideration after striking them. Laiki died right after being hit, while Tuujaban died fifteen minutes later." RaalVile thought after crating Koke and Deke. "Don't want anymore sad events to fall in my house, or life; best collect Dolksus, so he won't get run over, or eaten by a passing bird of prey."

Collecting his rain-sogged Kurilian Bobtail—unlike the other two cats, who would be given the name of Exotic Shorthair and Foldex Cat by the humans after they acquired them, this breed would retain its name after being acquired by them—proved to be the easy part. Taking the cat inside proved to be both hard and painful. Dolksus dug into his arm with both his claws and teeth; he hissed, spat, clawed, then started chewing right after he had him in the house. After thirty seconds of abuse, he decided to hold the cat, who was usually so sweet and even-tempered, away from his body; he crated the animal as fast as he could then turned his attention towards the house's other animals.

"Sorry everyone, but neither I nor my wife need anything further to happen to dampen our lives." he thought as he went to crate the house's animals.

Shimsin, Amayla, and Krayub were crated quickly. The three were crate-trained since puppyhood, so all he had to do was call then close the crates' doors after they went in. Collecting and then crating Ehohae and Toohe proved to be a bit of a problem. Neither dog were crate trained, and neither had seen the sight of a crate before; Ehohae started acting up right after she was put in her crate while Toohe was fast in both tucking his tail and soiling the bottom of his. Zaal's cats were tracked and then crated; like with Dolksus, he was treated to having his arms slashed and gnawed on by each of them. In all, it took him thirty minutes to track down, collect, and then fight and crate the house's collection of pets. After crating each animal, then taking Toohe out of his crate so he could give it, and him, a quick cleaning, and then putting Toohe back into his crate, he went to take care of his arms.

"Let her go!"

"He has it! He has the sickness!"

"So what! He's as much her child as he is yours—let her go to him."

"She'll get it if I let her go to him."

"You're abandoning your son, and you're forcing her to do the same!"

"He has it! I'm not abandoning him—I'm protecting him by protecting me and her!"

"Bullshit!"

Malakay should of done more than give him a black eye and bruised cheek. Her leg should of been cocked back—he was quite vulnerable down there; no attempt on his part was made to protect himself down there. His wife should of also done as the cats did. Instead of just throwing herself all over the place, and screaming herself raw, she should of tore his arms to pieces. The bruises were small party-favors to what happened yesterday; he should of gotten more than them and, really, his wife should of also done more than threaten to leave him. Like with his son, he loved Malakay; he'd put in a gallant, gentleman's fight if she decided to leave him over what he did in keeping her from Riki but he wouldn't go but so crazy in preventing her from doing so—no doors or windows would be locked; no staff would be positioned in odd places to prevent her from leaving; and he wouldn't follow her like a shadow, pleading and begging all the way for her to not leave him. When things calmed down some, and they had a chance to heal from their ordeal, he'd offer his apologies for what he did then ask the tentative question on whether she was leaving him.

He went to the bathroom closest to him, then washed and medicated his arms before wrapping the deeper cuts that the cats caused. After doing this, he went upstairs.

The house that now, just he and his wife were living in it had three levels to it. The outside was made of brick; there were windows looking out from each of the fifty-two rooms that were in the place. While the outside looked very normal, and modern for the era, the inside was ancient in appearance. The floor was stone, as were the walls; the ceiling of each floor was made of dark mahogany wood, which was very finely polished. Even though the place had electrical wires in its walls, there were more than enough torches on the walls that kept it well-lit—the electric bill for each month was low, thanks to them. The place caught his eye one day about fifteen thousand years ago. $10,300,910 was the purchase cost... which he was able to afford and then some. This place, which would soon be willed over to his secondborn son, would still be in existence nearly two hundred and twenty thousand years after he left it; while he'd remember, and feel a close connection to it, he'd not recognize it after seeing it.

He was on his way up the stone staircase, that had a red, dark green, and cream carpet running down its center, when the scream resounded from the floor that he was headed towards. His hands, and feet, went cold right after that scream was heard; he didn't remember going up the rest of the stairs, or tripping and ripping the flesh of his knee right open, or stopping to take in the second level's hallway. Once that scream was heard, all of his mental capabilities ceased working. The only thing that kept him going forward instead of standing where he was was his instinct in wanting to know what was going on.

December 15, 2:25 p.m.; Inside RaalVile and Makalay's Bedroom Chamber

"I thought it was strange that she was still in bed, so I checked on her. On the first time, she looked fine... just sleeping away, without a care in the Universe. On the second, she looked feverish—she's not feverish now! I won't go near her! I won't... I won't, and you can't make m—"

The slap, that he gave to the maid, who was leaving the room that he and Malakay slept in with her arms held out, was enough to make her spin and then lose balance. After getting to her feet, the woman followed him into the room then had the guts to grab and then pull him to a stop; though annoyed over being touched by one of his staff, he asked her what was going on and she responded by rambling about what she found after checking on his wife. His mental capacities had returned to him so suddenly that he became dizzy for a few seconds; with the maid screaming, and saying that she wasn't to do as he wanted her to, his dizziness had increased. It was either slap her or let her ramble on and cause further stress to him.

Honestly, he did have to thank the maid on a few things. If not for her checking on Malakay, and then issuing out that scream, he wouldn't of stopped or even gone in the direction of the room that they slept in. The chamber that he spent nearly twenty-four hours in was four down on the house's second level; while it was one of the house's larger rooms, it was also the more conveniently placed of them—it was close to the stairs, which was why it was chosen as the chamber that he and his wife would use. His wife, for the most part, was the one to decorate and get it ready for them.

"Boucle!" he remembered yelling after taking in the sight of his wife. "B-ooowww-cle!"

Yelling for his personal physician had, for the most part, not done a bit of good. Boucle had come, but he didn't do a thing in helping his wife get better. The man took one look at Malakay before giving his head a shake; unlike Riki, who was given the accurate diagnosis of having UA-1 hours after the symptoms of the disease started showing, Malakay was diagnosed with the disease right away. Boucle, the man who took over after Zinjus Aredock disappeared from his service, refused to do anything to help his wife; he just made the diagnosis then fled... his fury over the man's abandonment of his wife was so phenomenal that he honestly hoped that he fled from not just the chamber, and the level that it was on, but also the house—if he so much as found him in his house in the imminent future he would surely do more than break his face, his anger towards him was that great.

" _Oh geez!_ Someone... _anyone_ nearby, _bring_ some blankets and comforters!" he remembered yelling after drawing the normal, sequin wave plum-colored comforter and matching blankets from Malakay's body.

Instead of doing as he requested, each of his staff refused to come within a foot of his and his wife's bedroom. Some even fled from the level that the room was on; the sound of car doors being shut, then car engines being revved, and then gravel being spat out from under tires, was heard about five minutes later. The few people that he came across were disciplined with either a slap or punch after they opened their mouths to refuse the demands that he put on them. He did believe that he and Malakay were all alone. Not a sound was heard in nearly twenty-four hours; even the rain had stopped falling.

Thanks to him, Malakay was all covered up in more than four blankets and comforters. She was shivering, regardless of what was on her. The sweat that was dripping from her face wasn't warm, like it should be; it was cold, and had an odor to it that made his nostrils want to curl up into his nose. More than once since he covered her up, he drew the bedding from her to look at her neck and upper body. His wife had more than two protuberances on the sides of her neck; her left armpit had a very dark protuberance on it; and one of her nipples was very swollen. Just two hours ago, he took her temperature—a hundred and four-point-eight was what came back! His wife's temperature was soaring, but she wasn't hot to the touch... she was quite the opposite, actually—once his hand landed on her forehead, or on another part of her body, he shivered, she was that cold!

To make matters worse, she didn't seem to recognize him. He had spoken to her on more than two occasions since entering the room; her eyes had grown wide after taking him in then she started shrieking and demanding that he leave her "cottage" and then drop the "bag" that he had in the process. Since Boucle was nowhere in sight, he took to doing the chore of binding Malakay's arms and legs to the bed—while she was weak, she did have enough strength to lash out at him. She had actually come very close to offhand backhanding him twice before being bound to the bed.

"What, is this thing... this disease... constantly evolving, or changing its symptoms so that we, the defenseless people that its preying on, won't know of it coming?" he remembered yelling during the binding of his wife to the bed.

In a way, he was glad to be in the current era. If this was an era before now, he wouldn't of found anything about his wife's sickness for days to come. Custom back when his great-grandfather, and his parents, were born went something like this: the staff would only go into a used chamber only after the ones who owned that chamber were up, dressed, and then going by their daily business. The chamber would be cleaned, the bedding would be changed, the night-clothes would be retrieved and then taken down to be cleaned, and then the balcony doors would be opened; the breeze, and some rays from the spheres, would be let in to give the room a fresh feeling, and smell, to it.

Everyone, even the spouses, would have chambers of their own. If he and Malakay were born during his great-grandfather and his parents' time, they would of gone by custom in sleeping in different chambers; they would of also only engaged in sex when the desire to have children came along. The act of husband and wife sleeping in the same bed, and engaging in sex whenever they wanted to, started when his grandfather was in his late teen years. It was quite well set in stone now—which he was glad for; sleeping in a cold bed, with just himself to keep company, sounded boring and, honestly, he couldn't see himself holding his sexual impulses down to just when child creating was desired.

If there was a wife in the house, she should be sleeping in the same room that her spouse was and she should indulge in the once to twice monthly urges that both she and her spouse needed to get out of themselves.

The children, during their infant and early toddler years, would room together, regardless of gender, in the nursery before being given their separate "quarters". After the children reached their five hundred year ranges, they were separated—and kept separate too. The father of the offspring would, nine times out of ten, only concern himself with the boys; the girls would either be tended by the mothers, should the spouse want any contact to happen between mother and child, that was, or the maids. This practice was still going on when his great-grandfather had his children, but it was a dying fad at the time. His grandfather, and his siblings, had all endured a little different nursery set-up, where the boys were separated from the girls from the onslaught of birth. His grandfather's mother didn't have any involvement in her young's lives, or schooling, or, for the matter, been allowed to see them. LynkVile Brawsck Surfeit was married to two other women before being sent his third wife, Wilabolia Shaolo, and her two sisters; he did the same with the other women's offspring too—the only differences present in the three marriages was the number of children produced in them. The man's first marriage produced only one son, and four daughters, while his second produced two daughters; his third, and last, marriage produced an even-number of gendered offspring: his grandfather, WexVile Rulvot Surfeit, and his younger brothers, NykxVile Xolo Surfeit and UkVile Zye Surfeit, and his three sisters, BerimaiVile, VeeVile, and DawbraVile—due to the time period, the maids were the ones who named the female offspring; the given names that were given to LynkVile Brawsck Surfeit's daughters were the only ones known on file.

As was custom in the era that his great-grandfather was siring children, it wasn't guaranteed that any of the children born to a pair would survive to see adulthood. All of the man's children from his first two marriages died before reaching their kid years; Nykx disappeared from record sometime after being sent to Pronghorn Academy of Sorcery and Magic; and Uk disappeared after marrying his first cousin. His grandfather's two, full-sisters, Berimai and Dawbra, died after contracting a disease that also had its fun with their three brothers; what happened to Vee wasn't known.

Even though his great-grandfather voiced a desire in his only surviving son keeping his sons separate from his daughters, his son didn't so so. The era of keeping the genders of one's offspring separate had fallen; his grandfather raised his children together, like everyone else was doing.

"The trend caught on fairly well, and has stuck over the centuries. Papi was raised with his siblings, I was raised with mine, and my young have been raised with theirs." RaalVile said as he ran his hand through his wife's long, blue-black hair. "Like my wife said some months ago, early-form socialization starts at home... between siblings, and their parents. Mami's and papi's teach their young the rights and wrongs, and the going-ons, and the siblings teach each another how to act with others outside of the home."

"The exterminator! Call him... Raal! I won't have mice crawling around, eating the furniture and leaving behind their poop, in my house." his wife said. Her usual, meek voice was gone... replaced with one that the sick would use; if not for that face, and the hair that he was running his fingers through, he would of thought that the creature lying on the bed wasn't his wife.

His wife was referencing a time when their basement was a breeding ground for rodents. Right after moving in, then getting the place all fixed up, Malakay went down to check into the only room that wasn't looked into. Upon seeing the brown, gray, white, and black mice scurrying around in the basement, she screamed then tore up to the main part of the house. An exterminator was called two hours later; all rodents were evicted and, so far, none had returned to cause them any trouble. He was in the process of getting the cemetery fixed up when this happened; no knowledge of rodents running amok in his newly purchased house was known, and no paperwork saying that the former owners encountered any issues with rodents was shown or even mentioned by the sales representative. The discovery of the rodents was the only issue found with the house.

"Ssshhhhh, now, My Love." he said to his wife. "You'll be in Paradise with two of our young soon."

That hurt. The woman that was on the bed was one of the seven best things to of happened to him. He pretty much fell in love with her the second his eye landed on her; she, the woman who birthed him three children, and was there when times were rough, and was a maternal figure to his three other kids, was his everything and, sadly, it looked like he was to lose her.

He breathed the sob that wanted to come out in then looked around the room. It was either he take in the room's decor or keep fighting the good fight to keep the tears in.

The head and baseboard of the bed was made of the purest of black marble. There were two holes on the side of the mattress that he frequently slept on—they were there to accommodate his horns, should he decide to sleep on his belly. There were half a dozen pillows on the bed, all of which had plum colored cases, that were designed with sequin, on them. His initials were on half of the pillowcases while his wife's initials were on the others. The dresser that sat to the far right of the room was made of authentic granite stone; the handles were of mahogany wood. Thanks to the long mirror that was over the dresser, he could see his distraught face. A round carpet was under the bed; it had red, dark green, gold, and silver floral designs on it. A white ruffle went along its edges. Photographs of him and his children, him and his siblings, him and his nieces and nephews, him and his parents, him and his grandchildren, and him and his wife decorated the walls of the room.

His wife's brown oak vanity, which had a matching stool under it, was directly behind him and beside the window. A blue rose in a small, red vase; a brown walnut jewelry box, that had a brown leather interior; and a makeup kit that had all the fixin's sat on its surface. The closet, which looked dark, cold, and eerily inviting, was across from him. The bedside table that was beside him matched the dresser perfectly. A black cast iron candle holder, that had three, ruby red glass candle fixtures on it, was on the table's surface. With the exception of that morning, and the one that preceded it, he'd light the candles that were in them fixtures right after waking up.

The classic, Baroque-style, bronze-stone alarm clock, that sat before the candle holder, was an old piece. His great-grandfather had once used it... At one time in the past, it aroused him from a sound, half-sound, or very light sleep. The face of the clock had Roman numerals on it; there were a lot of rose-thorn and floral designs all along it. This clock, which was willed over to him after his father passed away, was always set for five o'clock—he'd get up fast, just to shut it off, so it wouldn't arouse his wife, who wouldn't get up for another hour or two, then he'd light the candles of the candle holder.

The chair that he was sitting on use to be across from the foot of the bed. It was a uniform, dark gray and light gray color. All sorts of spikes stuck out from its back and underside. The black stone bookcase, that was beside the dresser, had a few books, his wife's sewing and knitting kits, a few whatnots, the wands that he and his wife owned and used, and a few vials of potions on it—the few vials of potions that were on the bookcase weren't anything special; they were just on it for decorative reasons.

"Decorated very basically—so we wouldn't feel suffocated." he said right when the minute dial on the clock landed on the 6. "While we worked as a team, like any good couple should, you were perfectly fine in letting me handle the decoration and design of half of the rooms in the house. While I gave you some pointers, I mostly let you do as you wished with the rooms that you decided to decorate; you did the same with me. Took a while, My Pet, but the place got fixed up, and we got moved in and—"

"Uhhhnnnyuuuunuuuhhh..."

Unlike the last time, where he got up then left the room after Riki's final breath was taken, he stayed in the room when his wife took hers. Malakay's passing was done in a totally different way than their son's... while he had a more peaceful and pain-free passing, hers was very dramatic and, he was sure, painful.

Malakay shuddered violently from head to foot. Even though she was looking at him, he knew that she wasn't seeing him. The eyes that he'd sometimes find himself gazing at were very cloudy—it almost looked like Malakay had cataracts, her eyes were that cloudy! His stomach went just as cold as ice when the bedding grew dark—his wife, the woman who he once carried from a car after they reached home on their wedding day, had somehow punctured the bump that was on her armpit. She was bleeding to death and he, sadly, couldn't do a thing to help her. He shot to his feet, went to her, kissed her cheeks, forehead, lips, and chin... All while the tears streamed down his face, and dripped down his chin to the blood-soaked bedding, he was telling her how much she meant to him, how much he loved her, and how much he was looking forward to seeing her again.

His wife, who he married forty-nine thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-two years ago, started gasping for air after he finished his kissing and affection showing. She started thrashing; the binds that kept her to the bed were snapped almost at once. Even though her blood was flowing from the punctured boil of her armpit, and she was very weak, she leaped from the bed. The woman that he fell so madly for lunged at him. She started attacking him. She acted very much like he was the one that was causing her demise. Instead of restraining her, or fleeing to some other part of the room, or house, he stood and let her have at him. He took four swings to the face, then he was treated to feeling his body being electrocuted after she wrapped him up in a "sweater" of red-colored energy; his arms were only wrapped around her when she started jerking. The blood—which trailed from the bed to where the dresser was—that was coming from her had slowed to a bare trickle; using the little remaining sanity that he had left to his disposal, he picked his wife up then took her to the bed.

Her last breath was taken right when she touched the mattress.

December 15, 9:40 p.m.; Inside RaalVile's Office

The call went out just four hours ago about a possible new wave of UA-1 sweeping in. While he was only mildly aware of hearing the current number claimed by it, he remembered the news anchor saying that its symptoms were "slightly" different than the ones that were experienced in the previous ones. According to the anchor, a total of thirteen waves had fallen over the galaxy's middle-lying sector since June... after hearing this, he turned the radio off then resumed the pacing of the room that he took refuge in.

The only thing that he found himself able to do, after placing his wife on the bed, was pull the bedding up. His wife was only half-covered; he didn't have the strength, or stomach or heart, to completely cover her. He didn't know how he managed to get to his office; his mind was a blank on how the trek from his and Malakay's bedroom to his office went.

He had a badly banged up right knee; was that something that he received during the trip to his office? His arms were both sore and bandaged; did he injure himself during the trek to his office, then decide to make a pit-stop in a nearby bathroom to tend them? There were more than three bruises to his face and chin, and he had more than a dozen burn marks on his body; where did they come from? All he remembered was carrying his wife to the bed, then reaching over to close her eyes, then cover her in the bedding, before yelling like a madman then collapsing to bawl his eyes out like a baby; his memory of what happened next was very fragmented.

"Kissed her more than a dozen times—I remember doing that!" RaalVile thought as he continued to pace his office. "Maybe what she had was passed to me. Maybe I'll join her, and everyone else who's died in the last several months, in the next few hours to day or so."

December 16, 4:03 a.m.; Inside RaalVile's Office

Only half of what he did since his wife died, and the news claimed that the masses of the galaxy's middle-lying sector had experienced thirteen waves of UA-1, was known to him. He remembered doing a lot of pacing, and taking a small trip to his house's bar for a few glasses of Old ale and hard cider, but he didn't remember anything of what happened after they were done.

His stomach felt like a block of ice. He was hungry, but he had no ambition to eat anything; his hands, and feet, were tingling, and just as cold as can be; and, for some reason, his mouth was extremely dry. The pacing of his office had long since stopped; the act of sitting in his chair, and doing the tap routine with his fingers, was going on for more than six hours. The urge to rock back and forth was the only act of his that he managed to stop in the time that he took to sitting in his chair.

"The anchor said that the symptoms of the current wave were different than the rest; maybe what I'm experiencing are them." RaalVile thought as his feet started tapping the floor that was under his desk.

December 15, 10:50 p.m.; Inside RaalVile's Office

"Sir? Sir, did you get your shot, or are you still waiting?" the presiding nurse, who was only in the building to help the ones who were administering the vaccine for Spli to the surviving populace of the galaxy, asked. Instead of leaving the line, or getting up from the chair then leaving the building, he got his shot then reclaimed his former station at the start of the line. The nurse, who was as ugly as homemade soup, looked him up and down a bunch of times before ushering him forward. He, for no reason at all, said nothing about already being given the vaccine that he was there to get. He was pushed to the fold-out chair, then asked to present his arm; the needle was jabbed into him, then its contents were pushed into his system, then he was sent on his way.

This memory, for the last few hours, was tormenting him. There was absolutely no explanation for why he allowed himself to be given a double-dose of the vaccine for Spli and, for the record, there was no explanation for why his siblings, who were all behind him, didn't say anything about his already receiving the shot. His plan, on that day, was a simple one: get in line, get the shot, then leave. Getting his shot, then getting back in line, then getting another dose of the vaccine wasn't in the cards.

He had no fear of needles, or of getting shots, so there was no reason behind his experiencing what he did on that day. His siblings, upon being asked why they let him to get a double-dose of the vaccine, had looked at him in a sort of dumb shock; Rosol was the only one of them to speak.

"Good question. Wasn't really paying any attention to who was in line, or what happened during the shot-giving, or what happened after the shot was given." was what his oldest brother said.

Some of his mental self had returned to him in the thirty-two hours that fell since his wife's passing. He had a dozy of a headache, his stomach and hands were still as cold as ice, and he was having a time in keeping his hands and feet still, but he was slowly coming around. With the return of some of his mental capacities had come the memory... the embarrassing memory, which Trobrencus, Saroka, and Axtegae had their merry jokes about for days after its occurrence.

Along with the return of some of his mental capacities, and the blasted memory that wouldn't leave him alone, had come the realization that he was alone. He remembered walking around, asking where everyone was, for three hours before finally making the decision to go down to where the staff's quarters were; instead of finding the members of his staff, who he graciously gave lodgings to, resting comfortably, and respectfully, in their quarters, he found each of the fifty apartments that were under his house empty. He pondered on the reason behind his staff's complete absence for a few minutes before coming up with the probable idea that they got "scared" after hearing that his wife had UA-1; the remembrance of Boucle running off after looking at his wife, then giving his diagnosis of her having UA-1, happened right after that idea came to him. With the idea, and the memory of Boucle running off, firmly in place, he went back to the main part of his house; a ham and cheese sandwich, with a pickle, slice of onion, and a squirt of mustard, was made and then consumed before he returned to his office... where he was now.

"Teehee, Little Brother experienced a "blackout" after getting his shot for Spli. Laugh yourself to your grave, Trob." RaalVile said to his brother, who, if he was seeing correctly, was sitting in one of the chairs that was before his desk.

Trobrencus smiled at him, but said nothing in return. He glared at him, then looked at his sister, who was standing in the far left corner of the room.

"What, us Older Brothers are allowed to have our moments too." he said to Axtegae, who did as Trobrencus did in smiling at him.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, then took a deep breath in. When he opened his eyes, his brother and sister were gone. He no more started searching for them before his eyes grew wide; a see-through man, who he had never seen before, but who he had a sinking feeling was related to him, was standing to the left of the door. The man formed very fast... He stood, staring at him for the longest of time, before opening his mouth.

"Sometimes, they come in two's." this man, who had two sets of horns on his head—two that curled all the way around while the others just swept to the side—, and gaping black pits that were eyeless, said. "Sometimes, we're caught utterly unprepared for the second round. I lost my first three sons, and two of my four daughters, to the first round of one disease, but I lost none of the rest of my offspring to the second; sometimes, our systems gain the immunities on their own... other-times, we gain that immunity to the second round after being given a tampered substance after the first comes to a close."

"Who are you? _Who! Why_ are _you_ in _my_ house?" RaalVile screamed at the man.

The man disappeared. No response to his question on who he was, or why he was in his house, was given... He was just by the door one second then gone the next. He stared at the spot where the man stood then twisted his chair around; the voices of people that he either recognized or didn't know sounded at his backside. He heard Zaal's voice, then Rosol's, then Axtegae's, then some woman who he couldn't place a name to; the voice that belonged to his mother very nearly made him turn around, while his father's gruff, guttural voice caused the flesh of his arms to become pocked.

" _Please!_ Please, Merciful Gods, if this is UA-1 trying to claim me, let it do its dirty work and fast." RaalVile shrieked after hearing the low, smoky-like voice that belonged to his grandfather.

December 17, 8:10 a.m.; Inside RaalVile's Office

The voices that plagued him all throughout the night went away after his body succumbed to the fatigue that he was feeling. He closed his eyes at 3:30 a.m., and didn't open them until three and a half hours later. When they opened, the voices were gone... as were the hallucinations of his siblings, and that man—who, for the life of him, he still couldn't put a name to.

After waking, he went downstairs for a small meal. Six links of pork sausage, and a decent helping of scrambled eggs, were made, then consumed. After eating, he made his way back to the level that his office was on. While he wasn't 100% there upstairs, he was there and doing about a quarter of the things that he normally would—his brother let his sorrow over losing his wife and daughters get to him, he did believe; while the loss of his wife, and three of his children, and eleven other members of his family, was causing him considerable grief, he wasn't about to let what happened to Rosol happen to him.

The stubble of bristly black beard, that he wore on his face, was shaved off right after breakfast was consumed. A shower was taken, then his teeth were brushed, then a pair of fresh clothes were taken from the dresser that was in his and his wife's bedroom chamber—he paid special attention to not turn around while doing that; to turn, and see the sight of his wife's rigid body lying half-covered on the bed, would of sent him down another road of mental collapse. After that was done, he returned to his office; the radio was turned on, then listened to for nearly twenty minutes, before being shut off.

From what he heard, more than two hundred people were admitted to the hospitals of the planet in the last twenty-four hours. The new wave of UA-1 was claiming everyone who came in; the medical professions were said to be no more able to see their new patients before making notes on their decease. The fear that was being generated by the current wave had caused one of the planet's northern-based police departments to dispatch all of its available officers—civil unrest from people having to take the potion, the disease not being disclosed until now, and general fear was going on. The group that was encountered was subdued in quick order but, sadly, not before causing further stress, fear, and some damage to housing buildings. No word from Teluder Kakian had come in about what was going on; it was presumed that he and his family were still on Preron... still safe and warm and toasty while the civilians that they were suppose to be looking after fought the fight to stay alive.

 _Aaaarrrrroooooo!_

His spine stiffened for just a second before relaxing. The realization of the dogs, who were put in crates a few days ago, voicing their annoyance over being crated for so long, and for not being fed or given any water during their tenure in their crates, washed over him with such force that he was forced to shake his head. After shaking his head, he shook his shoulders; the office that he spent the better part of two days in was slowly vacated.

"Downstairs? Think they were put in one of the empty rooms that're downstairs." RaalVile said as he went down the second floor's hallway.

It took him fifteen minutes to figure out which room they were in. To keep the animals from leaving the room, and giving him more of a headache than he already had, he closed the door behind him when he went in. Each of the crates were opened, then the animals were allowed to stretch themselves out while he set to cleaning the crates that they spent the better part of two days in. The cats, as expected, kept a wary eye on him while the dogs either followed him around or walked around. Of the five crates that the dogs were put in, three were in very bad condition; he found himself as having to remove these from the room, and then house. A good spray with the water hose did the trick in cleaning them; the use of a sponge, and then towel, took care of getting rid of what the hose didn't dislodge and, of course, the drying. Nearly all of the crates that the cats were in were filthy; he took all of them outside for cleaning. The animals were fed, given water, allowed to roam around the room for a stretch of nearly two hours before being rounded up then returned to their crates.

"Just until I get a better grip on myself," he said apologetically as he carried the last of the cats to the crates. "With my mental state being what it is, I can't have you wandering the house. One day, two days tops, then you'll have free-roam again."

The cat that he was carrying, which was one of his son's Soft-haired Curlies—a breed that would be given the name of the Selkirk Rex after being acquired by the human race—, produced a growl-like hiss deep within its throat before delivering a deep scratch to his left arm. The memory of what happened to his arms came to him after the cat was put in its crate. Each of the cats that he crated two days ago had a go at him. Some scratched him, while others made the decision to turn him into a sort of chew toy. Dolksus, he remembered, was the one to put the idea in his head about crating the animals; two of the five dogs—at the moment, he wasn't sure as to who it was it—gave him some trouble... but the cats were the ones who gave him the most trouble.

The door to the crate was closed, then latched. He looked each animal over before turning to leave the room. He had just closed the door when the sound of a phone ringing caught his ear. Moving as fast as he could—like with his mental self, he was only half-there physically, so he wasn't able to move at his usual pace—, he went to where the nearest phone was. He grabbed the handle of the black wall-phone then pulled it a little too hastily from its station; if he knew who it was that was calling, or the news that was about to be thrown at him, he wouldn't of grabbed the thing. He would of let it ring.

"Hello?" RaalVile said.

"D-d-dad," the voice of his and his wife's oldest daughter sounded from the phone's other end in heaving sobs.

"Varai? What's up? Haven't heard from you in a while." was that true? He honestly couldn't remember how long it was since he spoke to this daughter of his.

"He's gone, dad! He's g-g-g-gone..."

The plugs that only just returned to their original places in his brain fell loose. What he heard caused him to lose it all over again. While his daughter rattled on and on, speaking about how she came across her husband in the bathroom earlier that morning, he both fought and listened to the voice that suddenly started up in his head.

"Zaal was found half-off his bed in August. His wife was as dead as a doorbell beside him. When you righted him, his eyelids just fluttered... he made no acknowledgement towards your presence—a moan, that was all you heard from him... That was the last sound you ever heard from him." this voice was saying. "Ofnavat was taken to the hospital on the first of September; he, who was very healthy, was pronounced deceased ten minutes after being rushed through the doors."

"He was covered in blood from head to foot, daddy! The floor was a blood-soaked mess... and his arms, legs, and upper body were covered in all sorts of pus-oozing rashes, sores, and bruises!" he heard only a fraction of what Varai was saying.

"Axzah's pregnancy was going very well. The baby was moving like normal... no explanation was given on why she had a stillborn. Your sister-in-law died several hours after giving birth, and her youngest daughter followed her to the grave twenty days later." the voice said.

"Babies are lost all the time, and Vataka had a bad cold—" he argued with the voice.

"Your attempt in getting your brother out of his slump was thwarted by the disease that claimed the five of them." this voice continued to say.

"I called the paramedics, dad. I called and they said that they'd be here and fast. It took them two hours before getting here... They were full of patients, dad! They just put my husband in a bag then threw him in the back... They treated him like a rag doll!" he barely caught any of what his daughter said.

"Finding Nihir and Stogku, stark naked in bed, and drenched in blood from head to foot, was a fine way to start your day." the voice said.

"The doctors said that—"

"You found Vlala all sprawled out on her couch a few days later."

"Heat stroke! The doctors said that she suffered a heat str—"

"Paegslar was found deceased in his apartment by a colleague of his."

"Pneumonia was what the doctors said—"

"Instead of finding his daughter up and playing with her toys, or begging to be fed her breakfast, your brother found her dead in her bedroom chamber. Like Nihir, Stogku, and Paegslar, she was covered in blood from head to foot."

"Cold! She was diagnosed with having a bad c—"

"Axtegae was in a car crash, and Laquanil died while on the way to the hospital while Niijika died in the parking lot. Rosol's personal physician called Gordub Hospital after noticing how sick he was; even though your brother was rushed to the hospital, he died. Riki died two days before your wife did... Your wife's dead, and now you're learning about how your daughter found her husband dead in the bathroom."

"Dad? Dad? Are you there?" Varai was asking him.

"Y-yes. I'm here. I heard ev-everything that you said." RaalVile said as he started snapping the fingers on his free hand. "A-are you going to be okay?"

"I don't know. I think so... I hope so... just got through taking some medicine for the headache that's been bothering me all morning, and just got through stopping a nose bleed, but—"

"You're going to lose them all." the voice said in a sad way. His knees started knocking against one another; his bladder gave way; his vision grew blurry for all of twenty seconds before clearing up. "You lost your mother and father, and all of your uncles, aunts, and cousins, to Spli... The second round of you losing your family started in June; you're going to lose everyone that you lo—"

 _"No!"_

A chorus of no's resounded the building as he ripped the phone from its place on the wall. His chest heaved up and down; his eyes flashed from one area of the hallway to the next; the corner of his mouth twitched as his body temperature plummeted. It was only when his back touched the wall that was behind him that he reacted to all of what he went through in the last several months. His knees were drawn to his chin after he dropped to a crouched position, then his thumb went into his mouth. He played the role of a toddler for nearly four hours before two or three plugs returned to their respective places; he stood, looked down the hallway both ways, then went to the room that the animals were in.

 _A-oooooo!_

 _Meeeeeow!_

 _Aaaawoooo!_

 _Meeeeew!_

He took in the many crates, and the animals that were in them, for a few minutes before jabbing his arm out. A vortex of green energy flew towards the crates, then encircled and enveloped them in a bright flash of green. The crates, and their animals, disappeared from where they were a second later; the few-second echo of the animals' calls was the only thing that gave off their being in the room.

"Get away... Save yourself... Get away... Save yourself." he thought again and again after sending the pets away.

He went up to the bedroom that his deceased wife was in. As the tears streamed down his face, and his body was wracked in shivers, he grabbed a suitcase from the closet. Instead of taking the dresser drawers out and then dumping their contents in the case, he composed himself enough to slide the drawers halfway out one by one. Even though he was composed in taking the drawers out from where they were, he wasn't composed in taking the clothes that were in them out. Nicely folded shirts and pants, well-matched socks, rolled up belts, and non-wrinkled undergarments were ripped out from them then thrown in the suitcase; when he slammed the lid shut, all sorts of shirt sleeves and pant legs stuck out from its sides. The suitcase was no more shut before being showered by the same energy that struck the crated animals.

"Get away... Get away... Get away from the pain..." he thought as he grabbed his wand from its place on the room's bookcase.

The spell that made one able to make a perfect representation of their body was done. He roughed the representation of himself up a bit after it appeared before him then, after causing it enough damage to look like he had a time before succumbing to the disease that was claiming everyone in his family, picked it up. The dummy, which weighed exactly that of himself, and felt like that of a real body, was placed beside his wife's corpse then tucked in.

With that done, he turned then raced from the room. The back door of the residence was thrown open, then half-closed a few minutes later. He was halfway to the red-painted barn that sat to the far right of his property when he stopped; when he turned around, the house was the only thing that he was able to see. If one of his remaining family had shown up, they wouldn't of been able to recognize him; his face, mostly around the eyes, cheeks, and nose, was swollen while the rest of him was a bruised up mess. He stared at the house that he, his wife, and their firstborn son lived in for five minutes before opening his mouth.

"I loved each and every one of you. I still love you. My heart hurts for each of your losses... please, wherever you end up, look down and smile on the survivors of this disease." RaalVile said before turning then resuming the trek to his barn.


	14. The Plague Years Begin

_I barely remember them._

 _The words before me are fourteen days old. I spent eleven nights writing them, then took a two-night break before taking them up to read through them. I'm surprised with what I've written. This thing's suppose to be written on my life, and the memories that I wish to disclose, but I've found that I've included some of the stories that my father either told me as a child, or is prone to spinning when he's visiting me and mine or we're visiting him, in it. I guess them stories were put on the pages because I don't remember the ones that they're on—with me being as young as I was, and with all that I've gone through in my life, I guess my mind just pushed them out for favor of other memories._

 _This is the first time that I've written anything about the tales that my father's told, and it'll also be the last—if anyone wishes to know anything on the family that is no longer around, they can go to him or read up on them in the Chronicle book._

 _After reading what I wrote, I stood then went to where my family albums are stashed. When I was a teenager, I remember asking my father about the family that was no longer around. Along with telling me what I wanted to know, he showed me specific photographs of each person. Upon his "loss", I was bequeathed a whole book of photographs of further family members that I never asked about much less knew existed. In the box that this book was in, I found another; this one, while having numerous photographs of the people who were lost to the plague, had a bunch of newspaper articles on them in it. Even after my father was returned from Limbo, then moved in with me and mine while his house was being fixed, then moved into it, he refused to take them back—the galaxies that he owned before "dying" were returned to him, as were other items that he made mentions on, but he refused to take the books back. After collecting the second book, I opened it then took in the photographs of each person that I wrote on—I do wish that I had a chance to acquire stronger memories of them, because they look like a fine bunch._

 _Like with my fragmented memory of the family that was lost in the plague, I barely remember anything about the plague. I was kept inside, and sheltered all throughout it until when the cure was put out. According to my father, Shlock's Plague was the worst of the two Universal-swept plagues that he went through, and that he never wants to experience it, or anything similar to it, again; I guess I can understand why, since he remembers it well and lost so many members of his family to it. My father is one big for claiming that the family was very strong in the years before the plague struck, and that the current family is just as strong if not stronger—I can't help but be proud of that, since I'm the cause of this to happen. Even though a lot of years have passed since the plague occurred, I'm still surprised with what was said after it was given its cure._

 _Gaajah, the middle-born of my and Cyla's children, was seen as taking the book that's beside me down from where it was three days ago. Along with getting on him for being in my office without permission, then asking him what he wants and why he took what he removed from its shelf, I spoke of some of the articles that were in it. I removed one of the newspaper articles from this book just ten minutes ago; along with being on the aftermath of the plague, it mentions that the Surfeit family's future looked to be very bleak—though shocking now, the words written in it had purpose back then. At the time that Shlock's Plague was beaten, only my father and me, and Trobrencus and his family, were around. Everyone else in the family were claimed by the plague. I bet the ones who claimed the family was nearing extinction because of the few-remaining members in it had their socks shoved down their throats after I reached adulthood, then started marrying and making children—while the books, and newspapers, claim it was my father and Trobrencus who saved the line, it's really me who did it._

 _My father's uncle, while a good man, and very powerful and known in his own right, doesn't have anything, child-wise, to show for his efforts. He's had ten children to date, who've done nothing in their life. In comparison, I've had seventeen; while most are girls, and are doing as they should in not becoming involved in the conquering circuit, six are boys. While two of my sons are dead, and another two aren't old enough to go out on their own, much less get involved in the game of conquering, my oldest two are both alive and carrying the name very well. Even though I feel disgust over the older of my sons creating a son who went against family policy in conquering our birth galaxy, I'm proud of who he's become and what he's made for himself. Surprisingly, the one who I don't hold that high in regards to my oldest son has made more sons than him... but I don't really consider them as being good candidates of being future conquerors because of the fact that their mother's swayed them from wanting to follow in their father's footsteps. If not for me going on to marrying, then having as many kids as I did, the family wouldn't be as strong as it is or be around—my father's contribution to keeping the line going was me, so I guess he did have a hand in keeping it around._

 _While I want to write on my marriages, and the children procured from them, I'm stopping myself. For now, that is. Right now, I'm not done with my childhood. There's a few memories that I wish to express in this thing, and that I'm going to write about come hell or high water. The first revolves around moving out from the home that I was raised in for the first two hundred and six years of my life. I remember my father waking very early, then going out and staying out all day, before coming back for a few hours then leaving again; at the time, I didn't know why he was doing this or even what he was doing. The idea of a new home being readied for us, and that we were to move into it soon, never came to me. I also remember being kept inside, and not being allowed to go out or see anyone but this one maid who lived under the original homestead's roof—with me missing my father as much as I did, and not taking any type of command from anyone other than he, I drove her crazy._

 _The house that I've lived in for most of my childhood, and all of my adult life, and created and raised all of my children in, is older than me. My grandfather's name is placed as its original owner, then my father received it after he died then I got it after reaching adulthood. It's been in the family a long time and, while built on, and expanded in more ways than one, it's holding very well. I don't see reason to move out from it or pick some other place to live in; why do so when all I and mine need is here, and the place is still holding up to the demands that are put on it? $10,300,910 was what was paid for it; the value price is now listed as $75,500,000, which is decent considering its age and what it's gone through. In the years that it's been around, it's received two remodels; according to records, my grandfather was the one who got the floor's heating system, and the fireplace in the living room, made. He didn't put much effort in on remodeling it after buying it, though. In contrast, it was a quarter remodeled after my father got it, then was remodeled again following my signature being placed on the deed. I guess this is where I'll continue this thing on. The initial work put on the house, and some of the memories that I have while living in it as a kid. I'll start off on what was done on it, then move up to the memories that I wish to disclose._

 _From what the documents before me say, my father was busy from day break to when the spheres set on getting it fixed up for us. He spent around $100,000 in getting everything ready, and hiring people who weren't sick or feeling poorly to work the place. All while the place was being worked on, he was there to oversee it. With the time being what it was, he wanted it done quick but for the work to also hold up to what he wanted to do with it. On one of these documents, he's listed as saying—_

"Did you read the words that are on the contract?" ShaamVile Kondee Surfeit asked the man who approached him with a question. The man wasn't able to respond; the one who employed him was fast to point out what he wanted done. "Everything, and I mean everything, that I've not listed to be removed is to be removed and then destroyed."

The man nodded, then ran off to do what he either needed to do or find the contractor who had a copy of what was wanted to be done on the house. While watching this squat-sized man bebop along, he thought of what he and his had faced over the last two weeks and five days.

It was hard to believe that it was the fifth of January, and that he was two days in on working the house that was recently willed to him. It was also hard to believe that the house's original owner was found deceased on December 23. He remembered the phone call that he received on that day, and how he felt when he both answered it then learned the news that the one on the other end had to tell him.

His father and stepmother were found in their bedroom chamber after the physician had a heart in going back to see what was going on in the building that he left following the diagnosis of his stepmother having UA-1. This man, who's name was Boucle Doder, walked in on a mess that about caused him to faint—the details, which weren't told to him, but were listed on a piece of paper after a team of hazmat-wearing medical professionals arrived to deal with the deceased couple's remains, were shown to him after the two were cleaned of "contamination". It was odd, but his stepmother was said to be A+ for everything that was listed to be on the bodies of folk who died of UA-1 while his father was said to be moderate for what was seen on the bodies of the ones who died of the disease. Unlike Malakay, who had very prominent signs of the disease on her, his father looked to either be little effected or in the starting throes of it; with the disease being said to be widespread now, he didn't receive a Death Certificate for neither of them.

His father and stepmother were ten days fresh in the ground. As was custom during widespread diseases, no one was given a memo about the funeral or allowed to go near the graves to say their parting words. Even though Riki's date of death was listed as December 13, he, too, was fresh in the ground—the same procedure of his body being cleaned of "contamination" was done when he was found in the casket that their father ordered and then placed him in.

"The house was very quiet, and cold. All of the torches had long since lost their flames, and there was an ominous feeling when he went in to see if everyone was alright." the man who gave him the information that he wanted most on his deceased relatives relayed on the thirtieth of December. "Do your parents entertain guests, or throw any type of bonfires when specific occasions come up?"

"No. Why?" he remembered asking.

"Because there's a large area in the back of the property that's a charred up mess."

The whole place was roped off, then searched from attic to where the employee quarters were, before being deemed safe for folk who were healthy. In all, it took a week before anything was told to him about the property; his father's will was read, and his wishes were carried out, three days ago but he had only managed to get started on the house on January 3. According to his lawyer, there were signs of the property having animals in it but none of them could be found or traced. All of his father's pets, and the ones that he took in of Zaal's, were missing while nearly all of the horses were dead. The barn, that sat to the left of the property's back, was unidentifiable—unidentifiable to everyone but him, that was. Once he came to the property, then saw the remains of the barn, he spoke of what it was then went to investigate it.

His father, for as long as he could remember, was an avid fan of a particular breed of horse that could only be found on Gamma Vile. The Gamasian Haquies were a hardy breed, which usually got to sixteen hands and had a wide range of coat colors. His father had a stable of thirty; the remnants of all but eight could be found when the building was both checked by certified investigator hands and his own. The cause behind the building going like it did wasn't known, and no bodies other than the twenty-two horses that were stabled in it were found, which ruled out arson or accidental fire.

Following his self-done investigation of the barn's remnants, he started the process of telling his son that he'd never see his uncle, or grandparents, again. While his son grieved their loss in the only way that he knew how to, he grieved in the normal, adult sense. Even though he was still grieving the three's loss, and the loss of Corran and KamikiVile Chosha Harvar, he was planning on moving forward. In a way, he saw the work being done on his and Duru's new home as a good way to get his mind off things, and to quicken the process of his grieving.

"Knowing her, she's probably glad to be where she is." ShaamVile thought while watching the men before him carrying board after board of gold Teak wood into the house. While he'd like to keep the place looking the same, he did have a wish to put his stamp on it; now that he owned it, he could do this. About twenty-five percent of the house's floors and walls were to have the high-cost, gold Teak wood on them, while the rest would remain the same. Around seventy percent of the torches were to be removed, and then replaced with regular light fixtures, while the rest would remain where they were.

KamikiVile Chosha Harvar was a name that he had come to very nearly forget. She was the oldest daughter born to his great-grandfather, and she was also the only one of his children to survive Spli. She was married when Spli was running rampant in the Universe and, in fact, it was the loss of her husband, Eunxyll Harvar, that caused her to shut herself off from everyone. She also had a daughter named Aldiria but, due to personality and lifestyle issues and differences, and issues that lie in the girl's religious following, they weren't very close. Aldiria Harvar also died after getting Spli, but her passing didn't effect her mother any. From what he was told, Kamiki died on the nineteenth of December—she was discovered by a neighbor two days later, then "prepared" for burial, then buried, after having the same procedure that his father, stepmother, and brother had done on them done on her.

While the survivors of his family were hanging in there, they were keeping an eye on Varai. With his sister just experiencing her husband perishing in the way that he did, then needing to be "tested" to see if she had the disease, she was a bit traumatized. She experienced a bit of a headache on the seventeenth, eighteenth, and then nineteenth before finding a group of "doctors" on her doorstep—they wanted to test her, and they did so by force, and she found herself as feeling fear over opening the door much less answer the phone or leave the room that she and Corran once slept in right after being released from the hospital then going home. She was staying with Olia and Shovot now, so she wasn't single-living or being left alone during this stressful time. They were intent on her not experiencing what Kamiki did after losing her husband.

"With this illness going on, I nor anyone else who conquers for a living has to worry about someone coming up to usurp us of our conquests." ShaamVile thought.

Yessiree! Due to the pact, that was made when the age of conquering single planets came around, no one could take advantage of another when that person was trapped on the planet that he, or she, lived on because of disease or illness. The planet-stuck conqueror was stressed enough over whether he, or she, would make it through what was keeping them bound where they were; the added burden of having to kick to the curb one who decided to take advantage of their not being able to protect their realms need not happen. He had five galaxies to his name and he definitely didn't want someone to come in on them when his pants weren't able to be pulled up.

He wasn't the only one in the M-51 Galaxy that was thinking this thought. Teluder Kakian, the last he heard, had three galaxies to his name. Due to self-righteous taking of that potion, he, too, was stuck where he was and wasn't able to defend the realms that he had. As a total, there were around fifty or so conquerors, or relatives of conquerors, in the galaxy and they were all subjected to Teluder Kakian's rule and to staying where they were until the cure was put out. While his father, bless his resting soul, sometimes spoke wrong of Mr. Kakian, he spoke good of him and liked him. So the man was a little late in figuring out what was going on, and it took the loss of one of his children to get his attention on what was happening, but he was fully aware of it now and, furthermore, was working to find a fix for it.

"He's gay or something. Has to be—since taking this galaxy as his, he's not had any form of feminine partner beside him, or living with him, or even had any children of his own." his father's father use to say on Teluder Kakian.

"I tend to agree with you." his father was heard to say whenever this conversation was brought up.

Up to the man's marriage to Uestea Saplilles, and then creation of a daughter and son about seven hundred and twelve and four hundred and sixty-five years ago, his father was still prone to saying that he was either gay or bi. It shocked a lot of people when Mr. Kakian was seen with Uestea, and then when they had their children and were quoted as being "devoted parents" to them. The tabloids were constantly trying to get photographic and video evidence of the family and this, he liked to believe, was the cause of their being so elusive—the media outlets were making it so that normal life couldn't happen outside of their residence, so they stayed inside and only the man of the family left to do what he needed before coming back. He felt for his galaxy's ruler sometimes, he really did. Being a conqueror wasn't easy and, for Teluder Kakian, it definitely wasn't easy or relieving.

"This would normally be done months from now, Mr. Surfeit, but, with this disease being present, all final wishes are to be hastily carried out to the ones who they're bestowed on. Are you ready, Mr. Surfeit?" the lawyer who took over for his father's previous one, who died in the last wave, which took nearly four thousand lives on Gamma Vile, asked.

"Guess I'm as ready as anyone else is." he replied.

"It's listed here that your father had a total of seven galaxies to his name, and had an additional five more under his control that were once ruled by relatives of his that are no longer around. These were to be distributed equally upon his decease between you and your two brothers; with your brothers being no longer around, they're to go automatically to you." the paper, that listed all twelve galaxies on it, was slid to him. While he looked it over, the lawyer looked at and then read the next paper. "Is there a way to reach a TrobrencusVile Bloym Surfeit?"

"No. We've tried for months now to reach him and, so far, have heard no word back."

"Is he alive?"

"We're not sure."

"Would you like to be placed as the holder of the galaxies that your father willed to his second oldest brother or prefer for them to be placed with the district?"

"I'll hold onto them, then deal with them when word's known on what's going on with him."

"Your father had a further total of three galaxies to his name, which are to now be in your care until word's known on what's going on with their new beneficiary." the paper that listed the galaxies, that LynkVile Brawsck Surfeit and his oldest son, WexVile Rulvot Surfeit, owned, was slid forward. He took it, read it over, then looked up when the man cleared his throat.

"An estate is listed here for you. Upon his decease, your father wanted you to have his old home, its surrounding property, and everything that's on it. The estimated value of a hundred and fifty million is to be distributed equally to his children—you've lost two brothers and a sister, but still have two living sisters, right?"

"Yes."

"The money in the bank accounts, that your father had up to his decease, is to be distributed equally among you three, then. Is one named DuruVile Bolushi Surfeit still alive?" the piece of paper, listing who owned his father's residence, and its property and all that was in and on it, was given to him then the paper listing what was in his father's bank accounts was slid forward.

"He's my son. Yes, he's alive."

"How about two named EbaishaVile Etalett Surfeit and EblouissieVile Axodaa Surfeit?"

"They're my daughters. Yes, they're also alive."

"There's mention of three accounts here that were made specifically for them. An estimated value of fifteen thousand is in each. Your stepmother wished to give all of her porcelain and glass collectibles to your daughters and put aside them three accounts for them and your son. Your son is listed as the beneficiary of two cats, and a primate."

Unfortunately, while all of his father's wishes were carried out, the one on the animals wasn't. His stepmother's cats were run over in November, so they couldn't be given to his son; the primate—something that Malakay bought after seeing how interested Duru was in the animals, and was planning to give to him on his birthday, but didn't do so because of the family grieving as much as they were—couldn't be found. The animal was said to be small, at around ten inches in length and a little over seven pounds, and was also said to be brown, and have a mane around its neck and a "mohawk" of purple hair on its crown; while Duru would of loved it, and he would of loved to see him receive it, he wasn't but so upset over its loss. With an illness going on, it would be for the best that no new pets be brought into the home—he and his son needed to concern themselves with how they were to survive; having another mouth to feed need not happen right now.

The two dogs, and three cats, that he and his son currently had, were slated to be put in stasis here before the move into the new house was done. While it might of killed him, and put the family at arms with him, he wouldn't of been able to keep the domestic animals that his father and stepmother owned—there were a lot of them living under his father's roof and, with the disease going on, and he needing to concentrate on his and his son's well-being, he wouldn't of been able to take care of them. He would of either sold or put them in a shelter if any of them were still in the house. Seeing as UA-1 was happening, and looked to be serious in turning everyone's lives upside down, he was planning on putting his horses in stasis too—better to do that than to have an extra worry on his shoulders.

Like with yesterday, he woke up early then left to get started on fixing his father's place up for him and his son. Instead of showing up as-was, with nothing to protect himself with, he showed up with a radiator over his face, a plastic suit over his clothes, and gloves over his hands. He wasn't about to put himself in danger of breathing UA-1 in, or getting it on his body, and he definitely didn't want to take it home then have his son exposed to it. Except for the cook and one maid, all of his staff were fired very recently; the only ones to retain their jobs lived under his roof, so he deemed them as safe for his son to be around. The maid was charged with his son's care right now, while the cook was just to cook Duru's meals.

"Wasn't easy to find the contractor to fix the place up, or to remove what I didn't want in it." ShaamVile thought while turning his attention to the pile that was to be carted to the distant dump.

Except for what was in Riki's room, the fireplace, the floor's heating system, the family mementos that were in the attic and weapons room, and what was in one of the garden rooms and his father's office, everything that was in the house was to be removed. In his mind, most of the house's items could have UA-1 on them. He didn't want to move into the place then come under the disease because it was lying on something that his deceased brother, and parents, either touched or had contact with. A spell was being done on Riki's room, which would expel any and all contaminates that were in it—it was to also be sealed off from the rest of the house by having a series of bricks rigged before its door. Up to when UA-1 was beaten, the room would remain sealed off from the house.

A good chunk of contractors came down with the disease in the last wave. Through continuous calls, he managed to find one and then hire him to get the house fixed up. He had already figured the changes out, and written them down for the occasion, but the contractor eluded him; once one was found, he hired and then sent what he wrote to him. Until the disease was beaten, the area where the barn was would be vacant its usual structure—his horses would remain at his old barn until after the cure for the disease was made. On estimate, he thought it'd take two weeks for the house to be done and then for him and Duru to be in it.

"Careful with that!" he bellowed after seeing what the man, who was carrying a long roll of carpet from the house, was doing. Instead of carrying the carpet out without fumbling it, or giving a care to it needing to be handled delicately, so no contaminants became dispelled then reeked havoc on the ones around them, he was throwing it all over the place. The man gave him a quick look, then smiled, before moving on.

The work on the house continued to the early evening hours before the call was made for everyone to go home. After everyone went home, and the truck that had the items that were removed with the intent to be thrown away was on its way to the dump, he stood where he was then gave the span of land before him a good scrutinizing. It was forty acres, and the house sat on its first two; the cemetery compromised of fifteen acres. With what was going on, he thought it might be appropriate to expand it—there were two plots of land on either side of the property that were for sale; he could buy one then connect a portion of it to the cemetery, or leave it for someone else. Except for the cemetery, which had a set of wrought iron fencing around it, most of the acreage had normal fencing on it. The horses use to roam the pastures and paddocks, while a garden use to grow and be right full in the one that was made for it. With the horses being dead, and the garden being months-gone, all of this was being put to waste.

When UA-1 was defeated, he could well see his Spotted Gam's running in them pastures and paddocks. He saw a red barn being built where the old one was, then most of his horses being stabled in it. He saw himself buying his son a small pony, or horse, then resuming his lessons on how to ride while being here—during the last wave, the horse that his son was usually ponied on died. There was no cause for the horse to die. It was fourteen, but healthy and having long since received its dose of the potion that'd enable it to have a life that mirrored the length of his. Half of last year's foal crop, which consisted of ten foals, died inexplicably too; with UA-1 going on, he decided to give his pregnant mares the potion that'd make them abort the foals that they were carrying—like with his son and he not needing anymore mouths to feed in this stressful time, he didn't need to be concerning himself on whether a mare foaled properly, or took care of her baby like she should. It wasn't wise to put a pregnant mare, or very young foal, in stasis either. When the disease was beat, he'd continue with his breeding program—while his studs still had their testicles, he gave them a potion that'd make them act more like geldings than stallions.

"A lot's to happen between now and when that cure's put out, then after the cure's been administered." he said while getting into his car. "A lot of changes will take place, but they'll all be good ones. I hope to make you proud of me, papa. I'll do what I can to look after the place, and its surrounding property, and the remnants of our family. You and Malakay rest, and let me shoulder the worries that happen down here. I love you guys. Always have and always will."


	15. Chapter 15

As it turned out, the pets didn't require the need to be put in stasis. On the ninth of January, at around lunchtime, he received a call from the maid who worked for him. According to her, his son was upset because the pets couldn't be found; after hearing this, then what she found while following Duru around, he began to wonder where they were and what they were doing.

He and Duru didn't own the standard type of pet that one took a fancy to. Along with being rare, they were expensive. Most would also be acquired by the humans, and retain their name. The Kuvasz was said to be loyal, intelligent, and patient; at times, it was prone to being somewhat aloof or independent, and cunning with strangers. The dog that he owned was just as the breed's description said he was, and yet he up and disappeared without a trace. Duru wasn't as much upset over his presumed loss as he was over the Smosund's—a breed that, one day, would be called the Dutch Smoushond by the humans. While the Kuvasz was his dog, and took well after him, the Smosund was his son's. This dog was given to Duru three years ago as a birthday present; while his son needed to be watched when he was around him, the dog seemed to be fond of him. Like the Kuvasz, it was highly unlikely for the Smosund to up and run away when he was so well loved, cared for, and loyal to the one who mastered him.

The cats, while having a preference for wanting to be left alone at times, were just like the dogs. His two Cymrics took to resenting Duru when they were acquired, but they cleaned up to loving him as much as he did; due to this, he knew it was odd for them to be missing. The Mikken, which the Earth-made Minskin would look eerily similar to, was his son's. She was a gift from Trobrencus, who thought his son might want a feline of his own to dote on—the man said his son should learn at an early age on how to regard himself with domestic pets and what better way to do so than for him to have a pet all his own; he neither disputed or said for him to not give Duru the cat or dog that he received on his two respective birthdays. While his son wasn't very fond of his cat at the start—it hissed at him, and caused him to cry and be scared of it for a while—, he turned to loving her just as much as he did his dog. Like with the other missing pets, this one's apparent loss was a mystery.

"Or so I thought." ShaamVile thought while entering his house, then going to retrieve his son.

With the automated food and water bowls being two-days full, and the beds that the animals used looking to not be used for a similar amount of time, it was assumed that they ran off on the seventh. Due to his being so busy with the house that he and his son were about to move into, he couldn't check in on their whereabouts and, with his having just two people working for him, and their already having jobs appointed to them, they couldn't find them either. Since everyone was busy with something, he just took it as fact that the pets were gone. It wasn't until the following day when he found out what happened to them.

While standing idly by, and watching the ones who were remodeling the house do what they were, he overhead the broadcast on the radio. According to the smooth voice that came from his car, people were starting to make trips to the hospital again. With the fact of people dying again being detected, he thought he knew what happened with the pets—animals, whether domestic or not, knew when something was coming and, instead of sitting around, and seeing what it was, they made an effort to get away; in the case of UA-1 breaking out again, the cats and dogs ran for their lives.

"And, with that coming to me, I dropped the overseeing of the house then sped home." ShaamVile thought while approaching the only maid in his service, then giving her the word on her being relieved of her job.

Once home, he went straight to his barn then did the spell to put his horses in stasis. With the horses being looked after, he went inside to do the same with his pet bird. He was momentarily upset when he found his bird lying underneath the desk of his office, and looking to be newly deceased; with so little time to spare in getting things set-up for him and his son, he couldn't dwell on how he felt over its decease. Following the discovery of the bird being dead, he returned to his car then went to the Lajon District, which was a three hour drive from where he was.

"It's acting like it's sending out waves, but its not." ShaamVile remembered thinking while going back to work on that day.

Like with the front-lying sector of the M-51 Galaxy, the last wave didn't move off. Once it was over the galaxy's middle-lying planets, it stayed. With this being disclosed over the airwaves, he got on the stick in getting the house fixed up; for some, it might take two to three months for a quarter-house remodel to be done but, with his deciding to chop it in more than half, he got it done in eight days. He was $101,750 poorer now, thanks to his just paying the contractor and his men for their services, plus doing what he did to get the new home further fixed up for its new residents; his wallet felt no strain from the loss of funds and neither did he. In his mind, that money was well spent and he was glad to of thrown it in the direction that it went.

The maid, who was just told that she was fired, acted a bit joyous over being jobless. Instead of dealing with her sudden action, he scooped his son up then took him upstairs. While going to the chamber that Duru used, he sent a text to the cook; along with telling him that he was fired, he said for him to be out of his house in twenty minutes—a thing that would find itself as not being done. The man, who had grown rather fond of his apartment, and took special care to ensure that he retained it if he was ever nixed of the job, would remain in the house. When the disease was beat, and he went to check into the property, he'd find his skeleton in that apartment then grow a bit angered over his not obeying his instruction to leave.

"Alright, Lad." ShaamVile said after putting his son down, then going to the room's closet for its stashed suitcase. Once the suitcase was retrieved, he placed it on the bed then said, "we're moving, Duru. Anything you want to bring to the new house?"

His question was a dumb one. Once his son heard what was about to happen, and what he wanted to bring with him, he insisted on all of his toys being put in the suitcase. He caved to doing this, but did a spell to ensure that they'd all fit in it. Once his son's toys, clothes, and other essential items were packed, he closed the suitcase then carried it from the room; his son followed him.

The only other room that he went into was his own. While in his bedroom, he was a bit more choosy with what he packed. After retrieving the room's stashed suitcase, he filled it with his clothes, family documents, mementos that he kept over the years, personal items that he thought he couldn't live without, and the things that he used in the bathroom; once everything was in it, he closed and then latched it before picking it up then leaving the room. Like with the other bout of packing, his son followed him from where he was. The good soldier that was his toddler was quiet all the while he went down the stairs, then placed everything down.

Before leaving the house, he did another packing session. Unlike the other two, this one was minor. Instead of tracking each of the home's displayed photographs, his record albums, and his son's high chair and other toddler furnishings down, then putting them in the box that sat before him, he did a spell to make them appear in it. Once the box was full, he closed and then picked it up; he rushed it to the car, then returned for the suitcases and his son. With everything that needed to be out of the house in the car, he locked the door then shoved off.

"Going to be a long drive, son, so you might want to take a nap while we're on the road." ShaamVile said after leaving the driveway.

Due to his taking the potion that was distributed last month, he couldn't teleport. This caused him to take lengthy drives to and then from the new house, and be home less than he'd like to. His son, he did believe, had caused more than a headache for the maid who was appointed his care; with UA-1 being over their part of the galaxy, he was glad to see this. He also knew that it only came about from his not being home to keep him well-grounded. All while driving from the Upidimoar District, he held his breath and thought of his preference for having a normal-acting toddler to come home to—he'd rather see this than one who was listless or not acting or being healthy. When he entered the room where his son was in, he found exactly that; he thanked the Gods for his son being healthy and happy, and for his doing as he did with the one appointed his care.

Along with worrying about him or his son getting the disease, he worried about their coming across a mob that was looking to cause trouble to anyone who came by them. If not for what he heard on the news last night, he wouldn't worry but so much on the latter. The mobs, that formed right after the disease was known to the public, had grown. Along with growing, their actions were a little different—instead of doing as they were when the disease was made known to everyone, they were now speaking of their disgust in being forced to take the potion and over how the galaxy was closed off to the ones around it. Like with when they formed, they were dispersed by some police department—despite this, they regrouped somewhere else then returned to their prior actions. Of the groups out there, one was starting to get to him—along with being destructive, and claiming to consist of people of the Old and Median faiths, it was targeting people of the Minority and Yewl religions. The police departments had spent a lot of energy on this group twice now but, so far, they weren't any changed... or, except for now targeting Mr. Kakian and his family, who were known to be apart of a faith that didn't revere the Gods, they weren't. A lot of anger and fear was running rampant, and he had a feeling that it was to get worse before getting better.

"Won't find any of mine joining them crowds. Except for Aldiria, all of mine are of the New Faith. We converted before DebonzVile Murtonn Surfeet died, and we've been it ever since." ShaamVile thought while keeping his eyes on the road, and what may or may not be beside or before it.

Once the new homestead was seen, he heaved a sigh of relief. The drive from the old home was peaceful, and quiet. His son, who was aroused a littler earlier than usual, did as he hoped he would in sleeping through it. When the Lad's eyes opened, he saw the house that, one day, he'd own. The second his son's eyes were open, and he saw the two-level house, he became ecstatic—over possibly seeing his uncle and grandparents for the first time in over a month, he thought. Seeing as they best get in fast, or run the risk of getting the disease that was running rampant in their galaxy, he spell-sent their stuff inside then undid the bands that kept his son to his car seat. Once the bands were undone, he picked his son up then opened the driver's side door; his car would remain where it was, which, he would find out many years down the road, would be a blessing in disguise. After leaving the car, he raced to the house then opened the door and went in.

"All who are here, come to the foyer at once!" ShaamVile yelled while shielding his son from the unknown around him.

The foyer was huge. While it'd be mostly untouched during his time in owning the residence, it wouldn't look the same after his son got it. Walls of stone surrounded them; it looked much like a layer of bricks were present in the room, that was how they were set. A type of checkered, dark and light gray granite floor was under his feet, while the ceiling was a uniform gray color that matched the room perfectly. The only color came from the plants—blue-green, yellow, and bright green ferns were either hanging from the ceiling or in the walls' small nooks; this wasn't here when he received the place, but it was now that he owned it. His Egla had a thing for ferns and, seeing as he wanted to keep her alive in some ways around him, he decided to have the ferns put in the foyer. It was the ferns that were the only difference to the room. The statues of roaring animals were already here, and would be here long after he returned from Limbo.

A hallway led from him and his son. It was long and, except for the walls, it looked very identical to the foyer. The only thing that discerned the walls from the ones that were in the foyer were the lack of nooks. At the end of the hallway was a grand, and once-spiraling, staircase; except for its lack of carpeting, it was the same. To the right of the staircase was a dead-end while, to its left was another hallway, which led the level's rooms. It was from this hallway that the fifty-odd people who worked previously for his father came down; after hearing his voice echo down to them, they responded to it by following it to its source, which was him.

Once these fifty people were before him, he looked them over. When he was alive, his father had a staff of some sixty-five individuals working for him. Some of the staff had become victims to the disease, while the rest were here; most of the present staff were women, while ten were men. After looking these people over, and wondering who among them were the ones to leave the house in a flury after hearing that his stepmother had UA-1, he took two steps closer. He adopted the presence of one who gave orders and took no shit from anyone in an instant. While these people use to work for his father, they no longer did now. Now that his father was dead, their contracts had turned to the one that was listed as the house's new beneficiary—he was their new employer, and he was to make sure that they knew it.

"The fifty of you know who I am, and who it is that I'm holding, and you also know what's going on outside of these walls. Right?" ShaamVile said, then asked.

"Yessir." either vocally or giving a mere nod of the head, all fifty replied at once.

"Good, then we won't have to go through any unnecessaries while I'm your employer." when his son moved, then tried to take in his surroundings, he was fast to make him be still. "Who among you don't live in the quarters downstairs?"

He was astonished by the reply given to him. His spine tingled when the ten arms went up, then his pupils contracted when he realized that these people could already have the disease. After seeing the show of hands of who didn't live under his father's old station, he fought to take a step back—if he couldn't live through this thing then there was no way that his son could either; there was no way in hell that he wanted his newly made two hundred and six year old to be parentless, and then be thrown in an orphanage. If they were to survive the disease, then these ten people had to go and fast.

"The ones who've risen your hands, you're relieved of your duties." he promptly said.

"Huh?" it was done in a chorus, but he thought he saw understanding towards his command by most of the people before him.

"You heard me. I'll make out a check, then give it to you before you leave. You've got less than ten minutes to be out of here."

The ten checks were made, then the people who they were made out for retrieved them then left the house. Once they were gone, he turned his attention to the remaining forty who stood before him. These forty individuals looked healthy on the outside, but he wondered if they were healthy on the inside; before appearing for work, did they go outside, or spend any length of time outside of the walls of a home? He contemplated firing each and everyone of the people before him before getting control of himself then going forward to continue business. With the house being so big, he and his son did need help in maintaining it—while he could do it, he knew Duru couldn't. His son was a toddler who didn't know how to handle a feather duster, or clean the rugs or dishes; with Duru being as young as he was, he wouldn't dare put any type of house chores on him.

"The rest of you live in the employee quarters?" ShaamVile asked.

"Yessir." again, the reply was either done vocally or by a mere nod of the head.

"Good to know, because none of you will be leaving now that your living status is known."

"Huh?"

"What'd he say?" he heard one of the butlers whisper to the woman beside him.

"Is he feeling alright?" one of the maids wasn't discreet in saying what she did.

"I have family outside of these walls..." another butler said.

"Is that so?" ShaamVile smiled while putting his son down, then pushing him to behind him. "Who among you have family outside of these walls, who you wish to keep physical contact with and worry about during UA-1?"

Half of the people before him raised their hands. When he saw the hands hanging in the air, he nodded his head then said that the ones who possessed them were fired. Again, a chorus of huh's erupted; the ones who were newly fired were marched out after they collected their things then retrieved their checks. With their now being out of his hair, he turned his attention to the remainder of his new staff. His father, he was sure, would be proud of him. Instead of keeping people who were possibly putting themselves in danger of the disease employed, and endangering himself and his son's lives in the process, he was nixing them and keeping the ones who seemed to be less of a threat. He bet he wasn't the only wealthy person who was doing this. Probably half of the galaxy's wealthy had done the same—for all he knew, Teluder Kakian might of dropped half to nearly all of his staff on the day that he gave the order for the Jaboa to be consumed. His uncle was the smart one all along, he realized. Instead of being a pawn on the chessboard, and hoping to not be snatched by one of the opposing team's men, he nixed his staff then moved himself, and his family, to an area that could be more than safe for one to live in during times of disease, war, or other stresses.

"Right, now," ShaamVile said to the twenty people before him. "There's a pile of boards before the side entrance of the house. I want each of you to pick them up, then use the nails and hammer also provided to you—you're to board each and every window and door of this place up."

"Sir!" a butler gasped.

"We can't do that." a maid spoke.

"You can't traps us in here!" another maid said.

"I can and I will." ShaamVile said loudly. His son covered his ears, then wrapped himself around his leg; ShaamVile glanced at him, then gave him a reassuring pat on the head, before addressing the ones who spoke against him. "Or do you see wrong in me doing so?"

"Just because a disease is going on doesn't mean that one needs to be a paranoid, sir." the butler who spoke first said.

"I see purpose in it." another butler said.

"Same here—I don't want to get it, and am willing to do anything to stay alive." a maid said.

"The ones who don't see reason behind my order, and don't wish to remain here, may go. I'll do the same in writing you your check before you leave."

Surprisingly, all but eleven were left when the third group left. He was left with three butlers, who were of the Goteian species, and eight maids, who were either Goteian or Liziard; these eleven people, after receiving a repeat of his order to board up the house, went off to do as instructed. It wasn't long before the sound of boards being placed over windows, or doors, and nails being driven into them, was heard. While he relished in this sound, and the promise that it gave in the house being extra secure against the contaminated air that was outside, he was reminded of his son being around his leg and scared. Seeing as Duru needed to be calmed down, he picked him up then decided to give him a small tour of the place.

On the outside, it looked very modern. The one who built it had an interest in bricks, and used them very well—while they were red on the day of purchase, a spell was done to make them be burgundy; his father thought the color would suit the house better and, surely, it did. While it was modern on the outside, it wasn't on the inside. Seventy-five percent was stone, which gave it a sort of ancient feeling that seemed off; the fact that he only instructed a quarter of it to be remodeled with expensive gold teak wood floors and walls made it look even more off. If not for the disease, he would of instructed for half of it to have the new wood floors and walls in it. Except for the carpet in the office and Riki's bedroom, all of the above-floor carpets were torn up and then disposed. He was only able to get blue-gray wool carpet put on the floors of the next level; in contrast, he was able to get the entirety of the living room carpeted. The living room had the same wool carpet on its floor, but it was dark brown instead of blue-gray—with that room having the gold teak wood walls in it, he thought that color carpet would suit it. The hallways on the first level were bare of carpeting; about half of their torches were removed and then replaced with light fixtures.

He carried his son down the hallway that led from the foyer then went straight for the living room. With so little time to prepare the house for the two of them, he wasn't able to put up any gates or proof it so his son wouldn't hurt himself or what was in it. Due to UA-1, he would be a stay-at-home father now so he was hoping to prevent his son from doing any damage to himself or what was around him—there was no personal physician in his staff, and they weren't to leave the place until after the disease was beat, which meant that he would be the only one with any type of medical expertise to doctor any wounds that they got. When he entered the living room, he was treated to seeing the furniture that he found and then bought.

"Cost me $400, but it was worth it. And it matches the walls." ShaamVile thought after seeing the couch.

It was a two-cushion type of couch that had no arms on it. The color was goldenrod; along with being leather, it sat on peg legs, which he thought was unique. There were two chairs on either side of it that matched it—one would be able to fit him, while the other would fit his son. Across from the couch sat a big-back tv. Beside the tv was a machine that'd allow him, and his son, to watch the movies that he found in the attic—this machine was newly put to market, and was said to record anything that came on; with this being known, he was intending to record each news report that was aired on the disease. He also found a newly purchased camcorder in the attic, which he was planning to use to capture footage of his son during the years when they were stuck in the house. To the right of the tv was a record player—instead of being bored to death while being here, he and his son were to listen to it on certain days; he had his father's old records, and his own, so they had plenty to listen to.

The huge fireplace was to the left of the room. It was made of quartz stone; it didn't come with the house when it was purchased. Along with getting the heated floors installed, his father instructed for the fireplace to be built. Since he didn't want the disease to get into the house, he decided to get it capped off—until the disease was kicked to the curb, it'd remain so. Right now, there was nothing lining the mantle. In the coming days, he was sure, he'd have it lined with the photographs that were in the box that he packed before rushing over here.

The walls were bare. For now, that was. Like with the fireplace mantle, he was sure that they'd be decorated in the photographs that use to line the old home in Upidimoar. Except for three or four, nearly all of the room's previously placed torches were gone.

"Not much right now, but we'll make do fine." ShaamVile said before moving off.

The house had a total of thirty rooms in it. The bulk, naturally, unused right now; with it being just him and his son in the house, they'd remain so. There were two kitchens in the place, and five bathrooms—one was on the hallway that came off the foyer, while the rest were dispersed around the house evenly. He took his son into the smaller of the two kitchens, then the bigger one, before showing him one of the bathrooms and then the room where the interior garden was. His son grew to being a bit fussy when he was taking him to see the long gym, which had a pool in it; seeing as he might want to get down, and then do some personal exploring of his own, he put him down then simply followed him as he went from one piece of exercise equipment to the next.

His father, being raised in a castle, and living in one for the first two hundred years of his adult life before deciding to move out on his own, was one for ancient-looking buildings. This was most of the reason for why the house was stone, or nearly stone, on the inside—the man paid a good price for the place, but he was more than glad to find it. From what he was told, the man said yes more than once to buying it while being shown it. Despite being one for ancient buildings, or buildings that were designed to look ancient, his father liked the more modern exercise equipment to what use to be used when he was growing up.

The bar, and set of weights, may look retro but no one seemed to care due to their still being big in being used in a gym. His son tried to lift a ten pound dumbbell when he reached the rack that had them on it; he hid the laugh when he couldn't do it—one day, he thought. One day, his son would be strong enough to use both actual weights and dumbbells. Until that day came, he'd just have to be content in watching him use them. After failing to pick up the dumbbell, his son went to where the rowing machine was. Unlike the dumbbells, he had no interest in this after seeing how it was used; he went to see the exercise bike next before going towards the pool.

"Let's get more situated before we use that." ShaamVile said when his son looked at him, then gestured at the pool.

The room was surrounded by dirt track, which his son either didn't notice or noticed but didn't care to look at. The pool was Grecian styled, and had gray tile on its floor and sides. Smooth, white concrete surrounded it. On an estimate, it was thirty feet long by eight feet wide; naturally, it had a bench, two ladders, and a slide on it. His father was an avid swimmer, and he took precious time after waking to take a dip and do some laps before showering then getting started with his day—due to this knowledge, he decided to drain and then get the pool completely cleaned before refilling it. All of the poolside items, and accessories, were in the gym's closet; until he and his son were more settled in, they'd remain there.

After looking at the pool, his son took off. He followed at a brisk walk, and kept to his post in keeping him under his wary eye all while he took in the other items that were in the house. His son revisited each room that they previously toured before going up the stairs then getting started on looking the upstairs rooms over. With each of the unused bedrooms having no furniture in them, Duru didn't linger long to check them out; when he came across the room that was his, he went in then started making a mess of it. Seeing as the Lad was busy in checking, and destroying, his new room, he set in on getting his toys and other items unpacked and then put in their appropriate places.

Duru was no longer using a crib, so he didn't buy him one when he was doing the quick routine in buying the furnishing that they'd need for the house. The bed was like the one that his son use to use—a single-person, that had a soft mattress on it. The mattress had a cover on it, that'd protect it from what escaped his son's diaper during the periods where he was sleeping; above the cover was a green and gray set that had monkeys on it. His son had the standard two pillows on his bed, and was now having his usual stuffed toys put on them. A diaper changing table, with basket that acted as a trashbin, was across from the bed. The series of shelves, that lined the walls, were slated to be decorated with his son's various toys, while the trunk, that was at the bed's foot, would house the rest of what couldn't fit on them. Due to the staff being downstairs, and working on getting the windows and doors down there boarded up, the window in his son's room wasn't covered—while getting the room ready for his son, and repairing what was toddler-destroyed, he kept his son from it.

"Bundle of energy this morning, eh?" ShaamVile said while following his son from the room that was just fixed up. While leaving the room, he said the spell that made all of the toddler oriented furnishing that his son used in the old house appear in the living room; after the tour was done, and his son was contained in a room that was boarded up and safe from anything that might hurt him, he had plans to rig them up in the rooms where they'd be put to use in.

His son went into the room that was his next. It was two down from where Duru's was, so either one of them would be able to get to one or the other fast if anything came up. When his son saw what was in the room, he smiled then went in to explore and see what he could mess up. Like with Duru's room, he set his up while keeping an eye on him.

Since he was single, he didn't require a big bed. A full-sized mattress, boxspring, and frame were bought and then brought to the house before being dropped where they were. Unlike Duru's bed set, his was gray-purple and had multi-gray stripes on it. His pillows matched the set, but had a grayish-silver, double S stitched on them—his initials; the pillowcases were actually from the old house, but a spell was done on them to make them match the set that they were to join. His Egla was a whiz with the needle and thread, and sewing machine, and she made them cases by scratch and also put his initials on them. This was why they were in the house—they were made by his dearly departed beloved, and he couldn't part with them because of this.

A gray-looking dresser, that looked almost convincingly steel, was across from the bed while, beside the bed, was a matching bedside table. A 30" screen was above the dresser, while the bedside table just had the usual alarm clock and table lamp on it. His son was currently checking the big trunk, that was by the bed's foot—except for the items that he was now going to put in it, which were family memento-related, he'd find nothing of interest in it. The long, and steel gray bookcase, that was across from the bed's foot, would house the collection of books, magazines, and Shrunken Heads that he decided to bring along; it'd also contain the photographs that were in his old room.

While he'd like for the room to have a chandelier in it, he decided to forgo it until after the disease had its full of people. His father, while having an occasional chandelier or two in the residences that he bought and lived in, wasn't big on them; the same went on having them in every which room or the rooms that were used as a sleeping quarter. While he liked to believe this resulted in the fact that he had horns, and could cause damage to such an object by simply looking up, he knew it was mostly based on his being a man and very masculine. In contrast, he liked chandeliers—they gave a room something further to look at, and talk about, and they also did better than them normal round light fixtures that's light had a limited reach. To him, there was no masculinity involved with them—you could design them, or buy certain ones that looked gender appealing, and still retain your masculine side.

"My grandfather thought the same." he thought before leaving the room to, once again, follow and keep vigil of his son. He was quick to change what he thought by adding, "Er, to a point."

While his grandfather had chandeliers in a lot of the rooms in the castle, he chose them wisely and was sure to not buy anything overly elegant. Only if they matched the room, or his often-times simplistic lifestyle, did he buy then put them up—his oldest aunt use to "entertain" people with the story on how he flat-out refused to get her a silver leaf and pink glass chandelier on one of her birthdays due to it being an "eye-sore" in the chosen room that she wanted it put in. Nihir wanted the thing to be put in the library; right where she sat when she decided to endulge in a little reading of what the room had in it. She claimed that the man gave her a long stare before asking if she was crazy then getting on her for "taking up his time" with a ridiculous request. The following times where she went to ask for that type of chandelier, he just made a sound then got up to leave where she tracked him down to.

"And no one dared to do the follow-around routine with him when he was alive. You could track him down, and talk with him, but you absolutely couldn't follow him from where he was—learned this from an early age." he thought before entering the office, which his son was now going into.

"G-g-g-grpha..." his son suddenly stopped. When he dropped to his butt, he started crying; he, at once, knew what was going on. He picked him up before he could get in too deep with his grief then left the room.

"I know. I know, but it's okay. He, and granmammaw, are still around, and can see all that happens here. Uncle Riki too." ShaamVile comforted his son.

He went down to the living room then sat down. In all, it took ten minutes for his son to stop crying and then want to be put down. Since the room was boarded up, he felt that it was safe for him to be in; after his son was on the floor, he raced up to his room then retrieved some of his building blocks, coloring books, and other toys. He set these before his son after returning with them then watched as he looked at them; it wasn't long before he was playing with them, and using them as a means to forget the trauma that he just experienced. Seeing as watching any type of tv was out—he didn't want nor need any type of depression to be played right now, which was probably dominating the channels—, he got up to put some music on. While he searched the available records, he called for one of the help to come to him.

While his father was mostly into instrumental music, he also liked to dive into the occasional soul-influenced, melodic variety that was really popular around five thousand years ago. The album that he found was of the latter type of music that the man liked to listen to; the cover was a three-tone, blue, black, and purple color, while the band's name was in bright white letters. He put this album in, then set the needle where it needed to go, then turned the machine on. The musical notes of 31 Sub-dimension were just starting to play when he went to check into his son and then address the maid who came in to see what he wanted.

"Doing alright?" ShaamVile asked the boy who looked to be trying to build a house with his blocks.

"Uh-huh." DuruVile replied.

"Think we'll do alright here?" ShaamVile asked. This wasn't a question directed towards whether they would fare well in the house—ShaamVile wanted to be sure that his son felt well, and didn't mind living where they were.

"Uh-huh." DuruVile's vocal reply, while given with a normal tone of voice, wasn't what his father was basing his decision on whether he was truly okay or not. ShaamVile took one note of the bright look in his son's eyes, and in how he was very keen to nod his head when he responded to him, to determine what he wanted to know. ShaamVile gave his son a pat on the back before standing then turning to speak with the other adult in the room.

"How are you with children?" ShaamVile asked the woman.

"Decent, sir." the maid, a member of the Liziard species, who had dry, green skin, orange and yellow eyes, and a sturdy tail, replied.

"Best change that, because I'm putting him in your care until I get back." ShaamVile went to leave the room before stopping then turning to look at the maid. "That is my only son—you guard him with your life while I do what I am, hear me?"

"Crystal, sir." the maid sat on the couch, then turned her attention to his son, who had since gone to use one of the coloring books that he brought down for him.


	16. Chapter 16

The decision to do all the unpacking in one day was both a wise and unwise one. With his thinking that it should be done now instead of later, so, if anything came up, and he was needed, he was available to take care of it, he opened himself up to the grief that he kept at bay while working on the house. Even though he tried to rein it in by looking after Duru, and concerning himself with the two big worries that were on his plate, he knew it was futile. While he was still experiencing it, the bulk of his grief was felt on the ten days that followed the move being done.

Duru was, thankfully, unscathed by his grief. In the two weeks that they were in the house, his schedule returned to normal; he was nearly back to enjoying his old routine—he said nearly because he was trying to get vengeance on him for being a no-show earlier that month. It always amazed him on how quick a child was able to accept their new environment, and get over events that weren't good—unlike the experience at the park in July, Duru proved to be this to the max in very little time; it seemed that it took him four days to grieve his uncle and grandparents before he tuned into his brave side and then begin to drive him, and the staff, crazy.

His son was content with his coloring books, and toys, for all of five days before deciding to find something else to become entertained by. On the nineteenth of January, he took to dragging each of the records out from where they were. He was fast in stopping him from destroying them, and in returning them from where they came; two hours later, his son decided to become a bit of a hellion in running around the house's first level while screaming his fool head off. While he was a sport during the latter activity, the staff continued to give him a look—he knew they were wondering why he wasn't stopping the Lad from doing as he was; in his honest opinion, his son was expelling his energy, and having fun, and keeping himself from succumbing to the losses of their loved ones.

"And he gave me a brief reprieve while doing it too." ShaamVile thought while turning the page of the book that he was reading.

On the twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-secondth, Duru returned to wanting to eat half of his meals. He "decorated" both of them, and the dining room, with the rest of what he was given on them days. Curiously, he stopped doing this on the following days; from the twenty-fifth to today, he was busy with something else—he turned his attention, and crayons, to the living room and hallway floor and walls. A few days ago, one of the maids grew to be quite angered with him when she came upon him doing this; if not for him, she would of swung at his son for what he was doing. After disciplining the Wench who dared to try to put wrong hand on his child, he scooped his son up then said for her to clean what was found. The same Wench was overheard as saying under her breath yesterday how "spoiled rotten" his son was and how he needed to be more "stern" with him; if not for the disease, and the house being boarded up, he would of fired her after hearing her say this.

"Make the ears rumble, Duru." he had to cover his face with his book when he remembered what his son did a few days last week, and then yesterday.

On the twenty-first and twenty-third, his son decided to run up and then try to trip the maids that he came across during his wandering episodes. Yesterday, he did the same with two of the three butlers. Seeing as his son was such a bundle of energy on them days, he took him to the bigger of the two kitchens then set him down; following this, he grabbed a pot, then two pans, before going to find two wooden spoons. His son knew what to do when these items were put before him—while using the phone to call and then talk to his two daughters, his son was using them like a drum set. It was only when he saw him "nibbling" on one of the spoons that he took them from him, then gave him the spoon that his new teeth had already made their marks on.

"Hey, Eba—"

The things that gave him cause for concern didn't start to form until the sixteenth of January. While trying to bite his grief over losing his father, stepmother, and younger brother back, he put his son down for a nap; after leaving the room that Duru was in, he decided to go to one of the hallway-placed phones then give his oldest daughter a call. He was in for a shock when his call wasn't answered. Immediately after hanging up, he tried to call his second oldest daughter. The same result was gained when that call was made. When the next three calls weren't successful, he started to wonder if his daughters were okay—while the intent in keeping the house was based on it being a good one to live in, and that he and his son might fare better in it than in the older one, he hadn't just wanted him and Duru to live in it.

His daughters were able to be reached before the move was made. All while getting the place fixed up, and stocked with food, he was on the phone with them—an attempt was made to get them to move in with him and Duru, which didn't go through. Back then, his daughters didn't seem to understand what was going on; even though he cautioned them in going outside, and hanging around people, they continued to say that all was fine and that he needed to "cool down". Before moving into the house, he warned them that it was to be boarded up and no one was to be allowed inside or go outside; instead of doing as he hoped they would in packing then swinging by to take up two of the residence's bedrooms, they stayed where they were. After two days of continuous calls, he finally reached them—they were non-changed in how they viewed UA-1.

"EbaishaVile Etalett Surfeit! In times like this, you _should_ know better than to go out shopping and blowing your money on things that you _don't_ need." he remembered saying last week, when his oldest daughter told him that she just got back from doing a spell in one of the malls that were a distance from her apartment.

"Me and my friends wanted to go out and we did, daddy. None of us are sick, or are going to get sick." his daughter replied.

"You did what?" just four days ago, he called his youngest daughter then received the word on her being out for the last three days with the crowd that she liked to hang around with. Instead of going to the mall, she went to one of the gambling cities that were close to her and her sister.

"I went to Panohai. Won around $750." EblouissieVile Axodaa Surfeit replied.

"Where'd you stay during them three days that you were there?"

"A hotel."

"Eblouissie!"

"Daddy, listen to yourself. You're almost sounding like Uncle Trob when he was making them calls, and scaring everyone for no reason."

While he was trying to be calm, and think that they were smart and wouldn't put themselves in danger of the disease, he was plagued with the events that happened with them when they moved into the district that they lived in. Seventy-three years ago, his daughters made the decision to both move out from where they were, closer to one another, and to the Minan District, which was sandwiched between a very flat valley and ocean. He had known all the while that they were moving into trouble but did they listen to him when he spoke of what went down in districts that were between two topographically unstable areas? No. They said that he was worrying himself to death for nothing; after a big fight, and his father coming in to tell him to leave them be and learn for themselves, he waited on baited breath for the inevitable to happen.

The Minan District was both wealthy and always asking for people to move to it. It had three cities in it, that catered to the needs of gamblers, and boasted more than enough stores and restaurants, and it was located along a very beautiful stretch of coastline. Even though the ones who ran its administrative centers were proud of their district, they purposely left out the fact that the weather in it wasn't very good—one had to be careful when they did their usual routines there because of the systems that blew in from the north and the ocean-oriented storms that came in from the sea. On average, the district was struck by the ocean storms three times a year; once every twenty to thirty years, a particularly bad storm blew in that was worse than the rest. The first event that caused his heart to skip a beat happened fifty-two years ago, and involved a fast-approaching system from the north that produced a small, but relatively strong, funnel. No one knew it was coming, or that it was to produce what it did. Due to the rain and hail coming down so hard and fast, the whirlwind was obscured; it took the lives of some thirty people but, thankfully, not his daughters. Ebaisha and Eblouissie were at work at the time, so they were in a well-secured structure that'd last the strength of the storm—while a quarter of their cosmetic and feminine clothes store went down, they were unscathed. While that system had one whirlwind in it, the next, which blew in twenty-nine years ago, had three—one went right through the district's middle, while the others reeked havoc on the coast. His heart came close to stopping when he heard that they were on the beach, and soaking up the spheres' rays, when it rolled in—his daughters knew the bigger whirlwind was present, but they didn't think that two more would appear, or they'd be running for their lives.

He came close to chewing his fingers off six years ago, when the ocean storm blew in. On Gamma Vile, them systems were extremely powerful, and unpredictable; with the Minan District not having any big-time ocean storms hit it in more than twenty-five years, he knew it was only a matter of time before one struck it. The storm that blew in from the ocean was fast in swallowing the whole district, it was that big. More than enough rain fell; on some instances, the sky was like a firework in being lit up with all them bright lights; and the wind couldn't make up its mind on what direction it wanted to go in. His daughters, instead of preparing for it, or going to one or the other's apartment then hunkering down to wait it out, acted like it was a typical, normal system. Eblouissie's apartment came close to collapsing on itself, while Ebaisha's fared better; while Ebaisha was unscathed from what happened, Eblouissie received a concussion, broken arm, and more than enough cuts and bruises. Even though he begged for them to move, they didn't—they stuck to their claim in living in the district and refused to speak further on what type of weather they experienced or came close to dying in.

"One of these days you're going to make this man's heart leap clean through his chest. You watch yourselves while doing as you are, and remember to be mindful of your movements and who you hang around with." he remembered telling them two days ago, when he rang his oldest daughter up then found that they were both in her apartment and getting ready to go out with their friends.

In the years following the disease, he would find himself as wondering why he didn't exercise the authoritative father role that a man used when he was trying to get his children to do something. Instead of trying to get his daughters to see reason in what he was saying to them, or begging for them to be smart in playing things safe over just ignoring them, he should of stepped up to the plate in making them do what he wanted them to—it would of saved his pretty girls, and his heart from coming close to breaking. Alas, he didn't possess the knowledge of what was to come, so he didn't exercise this right. He continued to call them, and worry about them, and make what was to happen in the future go on without so much as a hiccup.

"And now to the Galactic report with Peesimaja Vacklon. Peesimaja," the man on tv was saying.

Except for the nagging sound of the maids' heels clicking and clacking on the non-carpeted floors, and the hushed conversation of the rest of his staff, it was quiet in the house. If he was hearing things correctly, it was the same outside, which brought forth the question of what was going on to make it be so quiet. The staff had done as instructed with the boards—along with being very open with his checkbook and wallet when he was stocking the house's two pantries, he purchased enough wood to board up the entire house; they used all of it. except for the door that opened in on the staircase that went down to the employee quarters, everything was closed up tight—, but he was still able to hear the activities of the outside world. This, in a way, annoyed him. He had never been one to prefer staying inside, or be in a totally quiet environment; even though the present situation called for this to happen, and he was the one to instruct it to be done, he was feeling the starting symptoms of being on edge.

He was very honed into his senses, which was causing him to be like a deer that knew a predator was in the area. Silence, he knew, could harbor a predator and he definitely didn't want any of those near him, or his son. While he was familiar to the house, and its surrounding property, he was new to living in it and he didn't know the staff very well. The same went on trusting them. While he was telling himself to cool it with the ones who worked for him—they were like him in being stuck here, so, in a way, they depended on him as much as he depended on them—, he was still feeling the urge to keep his eyes on them.

After hearing that a report was about to be given on the galaxy, he lowered his book then looked at the tv. For the last two hours, the tv was on. He had the volume off, so the little sounds around him could be heard; he didn't know how, but the volume was just raised. Instead of worrying himself on how the tv's volume was raised, he watched what was about to be aired. Before it was aired, he pressed his finger to the record button on the VCR's remote—like with the last few reports, he wanted to tape it. Who knew, maybe the tapes on these reports would be a good thing to view in the future, or show to the future generation should his son mature to being an adult and then become a father himself.

"Thank you, Raejupel." the one who the camera panned over to was hideous. It was a woman, and she looked to be around five foot, one to maybe an inch or two over that. While she had eyes, it looked like they were running; he thought he saw plain pink, faint pink, and white in them but he wasn't sure. Her hair was stringy, but oddly wet and sticking to the sides of her dry-looking head. Her mouth was tiny, and just as dry as her head was. She was wearing a blue formal dress, which hugged her near-obese body a bit too snuggly. He shook his head after seeing this Wench, then listened to her as she spoke. "While many were shocked to hear that the disease has broadened its reach to include some of the galaxies in our side of the Universe's middle-western sector, others were saddened to hear that another in our ruler's family perished to it."

"Huh?" ShaamVile gawked at the tv. Had he just heard what he thought he did? Just yesterday, he heard that the lower-lying planets in the M-51 Galaxy were experiencing what Gamma Vile did in October and November; it was said that the galaxy was nearly swallowed up in UA-1, and the victim counts were going up with each twenty-four hour period. He had heard nothing on anyone in Teluder Kakian's family dying yesterday and, in fact, the family was said to be very fine and healthy when the last report was aired.

"This morning, at exactly six o'clock, the oldest child and only daughter of Teluder Kakian and Uestea Saplilies was seen to be coughing. Miss. Darilia Toogne Kakian was seen by her family's physician, then given some medicine to counter-act against what she was experiencing; she was said to be faring well until an hour ago, when she collapsed. She was no more seen by the physician before being pronounced deceased. While nothing's being said on whether she had UA-1, many believe that she had it.

"Mr. Kakian wasn't home when his daughter collapsed, but he rushed over the second he heard of what was going on. It's said that Miss. Darilia Kakian's hasty funeral was instructed by her father's physician, who was released of his contract right after it came to a close. Before being buried, Miss. Kakian was given a number—"

"A what?" ShaamVile asked aloud. His son looked at him, before getting up to go to him. He scooped him up while keeping his attention on the screen.

"She's s-said to be casualty #216,090. Our sci-scientists, while respecting the families of the deceased, are trying to keep uh-p with how m-many are claimed by giving them a number, which is said to also s-show how many have died of the dis—"

For the maid who noticed the report, and wanted to hear it, she dreaded her decision to use her powers to turn the volume up. The reporter looked to be struggling all throughout the second part of her report; while she detected the reason behind her actions quickly, it took the ones who were in the room with the reporter a while to do the same. The woman's stuttering grew, and she started to stop her report in mid-sentence before resuming it, after mentioning that the scientists were giving a number to each of the deceased. After around two minutes of doing this, her eyes started to slide back and forth like a pendulum; it was when the woman's balance started to go that the ones around her started putting some distance between them. When she collapsed, then started convulsing, her co-workers fled in natural panic.

The maid beside her was a friend of hers. Like herself, she wanted to know what was going on outside of the house's walls; she bet she dreaded the volume being turned up too. Their employer, who seemed to not mind the volume being turned up, was currently shielding his son from what was being shown on tv—the remote was close-by, but he didn't go to turn the tv off, change the channel, or even lower the volume.

The one who was manning the camera had fled with the rest of the room's people. With his exit, his camera tilted just a bit, so everyone who was watching was able to see what was happening with his co-worker. She, her friend, and their employer watched as the woman's dry skin cracked, then became pocked with bruises and all matter of cuts; the bruises and cuts had no more appeared when she started to tear at both her clothes and the things around her. It was only when the woman tore her dress from her body that they noticed the ghastly growths on her groin. It was obvious by the seam of her stomach that she was a mother; for some reason, the seam was open and surrounded by all matter of blisters.

"Oh no!" Safiya Bariloka, who was mostly Goteian, but had a spot of Tashnesian in her, which gave her the ability to manipulate certain technologies by simply thinking about them, moaned.

"Water!" the reporter was heard as saying. "Water... please, I'm burning up!"

Instead of watching what was being aired, he got up then left the room. The spell that'd make the VCR continue to record the report, and any other reports that came on about UA-1, was done; the following spell caused the tape to have unlimited tape on it, so he wouldn't have to worry about having to replace it when it reached its limit or missing the recording of some of the reports that were aired. The sounds of the woman's condition grew faint as he, and his son, fled the room then went to the library.

While no doctor by any means, or having experienced anything this widespread before, he knew that everyone was effected in different ways to each strand of disease that were out there. As a child, he was inflicted with what his grandfather called Ecoirl Disease—he couldn't breathe very well, and he had a cough that went along with its typical symptoms, but he also had the chills, headaches, and bouts of faint headedness, which weren't shown by everyone who got it. Despite his father's physician's diagnosis of his future being bleak, and his family's concern of his being weak if he survived it, he beat it on his own and grew into what he was now.

After beating that disease, then maturing into a mid-teenager, he caught Yelminoitis. While he experienced its typical symptoms, and nothing but them symptoms, it took him two weeks to beat it. He was one weak Lad after coming out of that... but his peers were sure glad to see him as surviving it, and doing what he could to get back to health again. While Ecoirl Disease was a disease that liked to play Galaxy Hop, and would, one day, be called Phthisis pulmonalis by the humans, Yelminoitis, which would be called Yellow Fever by the humans, effected just the people who lived in the M-51 Galaxy.

Following his going out to make a premature name for himself, he came down with Kryal. He experienced this disease three times in his adult life. It was still around, but wasn't as viral as it use to be. Like with Ecoirl Disease, he didn't exhibit all of the symptoms to it when he caught it on each of the times that it had him in his grasp. The same went with his experience of Tihus, which kept him in bed for three weeks following his latest galactic conquest. While Kryal was gained by the consumption of contaminated water, and be called Cholera by the humans, Tihus, which would come to be called Typhus by the humans, came from infected insects. People were now more mindful of the water that they consumed, so Kryal wasn't able to infect as many as it use to; specific sprays, targeted towards the insects that carried Tihus, were now on the market to counter-act against that disease.

To him, the reporter just showed some bizarre symptoms that weren't associated with UA-1. She also described Teluder Kakian's daughter as exhibiting something totally unknown to it too. While both weren't assured carriers of the disease, he had a feeling that it had a hand in their ailments, and that the reporter wasn't to see the night fall.

"All the more reason to be bottled up at home, and not spend any time with anyone who's being free with their outside time." ShaamVile thought while putting his son down. They were in the library now; seeing as they were a distance from the living room, and the report that had long since been concluded, he thought they were safe from witnessing anything chaotic.

Instead of going up to a bedroom, or the kitchen or gym, he decided to take his son to the room that peace was usually achieved in. Nine times out of ten, nothing bad happened in a library. The air was tranquil, the books were good to get lost in, and the option to forget your troubles was very available in one. The house's library was long, and consisted of just about every book that was currently known or available in the Universe. Its carpet was red and gray, while the walls were burgundy; the secondary level was the same as the first, but it had a light brown banister on it that allowed one to see what was happening on the lower level. Once his son was on the floor, he went off to find something to get into; he followed him for all of ten minutes before stopping, scooping him up, then taking him to one of the room's two couches. Once seated, his son went to look at the book that he pulled from the shelf that he stopped to peer at—while Duru couldn't read, he had good vision; the book that he had was mostly picture-oriented, so he was able to take in what it provided him.

He ran to get the book that he left in the living room after his son was on the couch then returned to the room. Once he was back in the room, he went to the couch that his son was on then sat on it; he resumed the reading of what he had afterwards.

"Duru? Duru!" he sustained the sigh when the memory of what happened on the twenty-fifth came to him.

He about had a heart attack when his son took off. His back was turned at the time. He was speaking with one of the few-remaining butlers while his son ran off to the house's second level, then to the room that use to be his grandfather's office. After four minutes of frenzied searching, he found and then removed him from where he was—instead of checking him over for things that he shouldn't have, he just put him down then shook his head. The thought of what he was to make for supper was just coming to him when the Lad took the black ballpoint pen out then started playing with it. It wasn't until after the pen was busted, and his son, and the carpet around him, was covered in ink, that he noticed what was going on. Unlike the walls, which took an hour to maybe hour and a half to clean, it took a maid four hours to get the carpet clean; while she cleaned the carpet, he was working to keep his son in the tub so he could remove the ink from him.

From the time that he was a fresh new baby to now, his son had always loved getting baths. After getting a bit more stable on his legs, he started trying to escape the tub when he was both facing him and had his back turned. On the day that the pen was removed from the office, his son leaped from the tub then ran around him; it took him a little while to catch and then return him to the room that he ran from. By the time he caught him, the carpet was soaked and soap-sudded—he was glad for the above-level being carpeted because, if not for that carpet being on the floor, his son would of slipped and then fell face-first somewhere while running from him.

"If things look good tomorrow, we'll visit the pool." he nearly chuckled when he said this to his son. With their being in a house that was all boarded up from the inside, and safe from the polluted air that was outside, of course things would look "good" tomorrow. His son, who knew nothing of the dangers of the outside world, looked at him sharply then smiled; he couldn't help but return it.


	17. Chapter 17

When he entered the room, he was struck by three things. One was alarming, while the others were shocking or normal. The first regarded the plant matter; with it billowing, and acting like it was caught by the wind, he couldn't help but wonder if something was missed when the house was being boarded up. When he noticed the ceiling had fans in it, he came close to laughing—such an innocent thing caught his attention, and concern! The humidity was just plain shocking... or until he found that it was only natural for it to be here, that was. The detection of the greenery was the third thing that he noticed; with it being normal, he felt no alarm, shock, or concern.

After giving the room a once-over, then seeing it was safe for his son to be in, he turned then gestured for him to follow him. Duru, while reluctant to obey him, was quick to go by him and then dive into his curiosity.

All while his son made his initial rounds of the room, he thought of the house's interior gardens. There were two in it, and all were full of plants. The one down the hall was where the potion-based plants were in, while the one that they were in had the less purposeful ones in it. All around them were flowers of various color, design, and size; plants that were leafy were also been seen. The leaves on the leafier plants were either solid, oddly, or multi-colored; they were all over the place and, while some of their leaves were long, and trailed the floor that they sat on, others were raised towards the ceiling. After watching his son go off to explore, he toned into his knowledge of what his father, and stepmother, grew and kept in here.

"The Wiather—a very harmless, and pretty, flower that stems from the most northern-based planet of this galaxy." ShaamVile identified the first flower that met his eye.

The long vases, that were at the base of the three-step staircase, were stone-made and full of this type of flower. The stalks were pink, while the fronds were white and feather-like in appearance. Even though they looked pretty, they weren't very fragrant. When his son went to give them a sniff, he didn't do his usual in jumping like a loon or smile. He just stood before the plant that he tried to take the scent of for a few seconds before giving his shoulders a slight shrug then ran off to try the next one that he saw.

The glass vases, that went to the right after the stone ones came to a stop, contained a flower that was routinely harvested in the Bogdanov Galaxy. The flowers looked almost like they were dying, but he knew they weren't. The stalks were sickle-shaped, and had a series of sharp thorns on them. The flower part of the plant was what made it look like it was dying; while the stalk was dark red in color, the flower was either pale pink or off-white. The shoots of the flowers were nearly identical to the still-yet existed Weeping Willow trees of Earth, and they drooped like them too, which gave the plant its deceased-like appearance. Unlike the Wiather, the Salidanovi was very fragrant—Duru wasn't disappointed when he went to give one of them a sniff.

"Duru. Slow up, Lad."

After exiting the staircase that stood before the room's door, he hurried along to keep up with his son. Duru, though mindful of his instruction, didn't stay where he was for long. After seeing him come around the corner, he went to where a fountain was; around this piece of architecture were more plants from the Bogdanov Galaxy—unlike ninety percent of the other galaxies in the Universe, the Bogdanov had just one planet in it that contained intelligent life. His stepmother, while looking through a catalog some thirty to forty years ago, came across some of the flowers that were known to be found in the galaxy. His father was never one to say no to her interest in flowers, or wanting some from the other galaxies out there; after making note of the six flowers that she took a keen interest in, he went to acquire them. It was an expensive endeavor, but he came through in surprising her with them on one of her birthdays—instead of getting the flowers through a gardener, or going to the galaxy to get them himself, the man made a request to the Monarch of the Barfakians for them.

The fountain, he still thought, was one ugly piece of work. Instead of getting it from the M-51 Galaxy, his father got it from one of the nearby galaxy's planets. It consisted of a chunky, and rather wrinkle-bodied, animal that, one day, he'd associate with the Hippopotamus. The mouth of this odd animal was all puckered up; the water was shooting from it as if it was being spat. There were two birds that were commonly found on Gamma Vile sitting on the chunky beast's back while, on either side of it, were two Otemeishi's. He took one look at the mostly water-based, carnivorous animals of his birth galaxy before turning his attention to his son, who was trying to catch one of the fountain's present lily pads and sniff the surrounding flowers at the same time.

"Careful, Duru." ShaamVile said after his son came close to falling in the water. With his Elemental Water powers, he made one of the lily pads come closer to Duru, who snatched it up then examined it for all of two seconds before tearing it apart then throwing it down.

His son sniffed the red Hurdonu's, then the orange, pink, and white Miconi's, before grabbing the stalk of one of the Nubie's. Unlike the other flowers, he didn't sniff it or act excited after doing so. With this flower having a stem that was covered in stickers, it wasn't very toddler-friendly. His son did as expected in releasing it then crying; he reacted by sighing then going to pick him up.

His action in being annoyed wasn't based on his son's hysteria. Except for the general use of Pubba, Duru still didn't know how to talk, so he could only voice himself with sounds or distress. Despite his knowledge of this, he was still bitten by the bug that started biting him five days ago—up to the eighth of February, he was doing well in containing his anxiety over feeling cooped up.

It took him three days to decide to cease the recording of the news in the living room. With the reports on UA-1 coming in almost daily, and he and his son being in that room every day, he didn't want them to be subjected to them or the concern, depression, or fear that they garnered in the ones who watched them. The spell that'd make a copy of the VCR was done on the thirtieth, then he checked to see how to real deal was connected to the tv before removing the tape that was in it then taking it, and the imitation, upstairs. While the VCR's copy had a room all its own, and was doing as the old one use to, the old one was still in the living room and being used as it should be. Now that the living room was free of the news, they were using it in a more natural and calm way.

He and Duru had spent three sessions in the pool over the last two weeks and three days. His son was getting stronger with his legs, and it was sure showing when he was in the pool—once he was in it, he became like a fish. He was able to half-so forget his concern over his daughters on the twenty-eighth, and then again on the seventh; on the eleventh, he wasn't able to do this. On the days that they weren't having fun in the pool, they were in the gym, living room, or library. The staff knew about the living room being news-free, and that the imitation VCR was in room 21; he did believe that they took turns every few hours in going up to that room then catching up on what was going on around them. He neither stopped or prevented them from doing this—they had a right, and what right did he have in saying that they couldn't indulge in a little laziness during this period? The staff were doing as they should, regardless of going up to that room and seeing what was happening to the people outside of the house's walls.

Normal meals, with the occasional snack being thrown in, were being consumed by him and his son. While his routine in eating his meals was non-changed, Duru decided to make an infrequent return to eating half of what was put before him; he was now taking the Lad's plate, and bowl, from him before he had a chance to throw their contents around—the first two times he did this, he had a rather upset toddler on his hands while, on the others, his son just gave him a look before grabbing his wooden spoon then chewing on it. He was glad to see that he was getting the point in his not getting his way all the time, and was hoping to curb the food throwing in the imminent future.

"Maybe I can curb the he-only-sleeps-when-he-wants-to routine afterwards." ShaamVile thought after his son was returned to the floor, then ran off to look at something else.

Duru's exploratory trips of the house were now slowing up. Just yesterday, he only visited two rooms—the pantries. Instead of stopping him from doing so, he let him go in then look at what was in them. While he was in the pantries, he was reminded of his ordeal in evicting what use to be in them—like with most of the house's old items, he gave the order for everything to be removed from them. They were disinfected after being emptied before being restocked with what he and his son liked and used; with UA-1 going around, and his not knowing if the old food was contaminated or not, he thought it was too risky to keep the old stock in them.

If his son wasn't playing with his toys, watching his regular programs, flinging some of what he was given to eat, messing in his diapers, or keeping him up at all hours of the night, he was driving the staff crazy. From general observation, he thought half of the ones who worked for him were familiar with his son and liked children. The other half either acted like they were surprised over his having a kid or didn't like the idea of having someone so young near them. Of the ones in his staff, he only knew two—a man by the name of Hexato Bolse and a women by the name of Juuwai Syaleb. Seeing as he had nothing better to do on the thirty-first and fourth, he tracked Hexato down for a game of cards. While he knew Juuwai Syaleb, and thought she was right pretty and attractive, he wasn't tracking her down for flirting sessions; he just spoke to her in a normal sense before going on his way. He didn't know the names of the rest of his staff, or do any tracking of them when the need for adult-related companionship came calling. So far, he had only tracked Mr. Bolse and Miss. Syaleb down twice; the rest of his activities between January twenty-eight and February thirteen were normal-based... and becoming a bit strained to him.

The same old routine of his getting up at six, getting breakfast ready then eating it, then either following his son around or doing the usual in watching tv, working out in the gym, reading one of the library's books, or listening to the house's collection of record albums before needing to make lunch, then resuming one of them activities before it was time for supper and then bed was getting a bit boring. Seeing as he and his son needed something new on today's schedule, he decided to go to the only garden in the house that wasn't yet visited or explored. While his son was being his usual self, he had yet to feel the effects of change come over him. This frustrated him as much as it—

"Yeah, hello?" ShaamVile said after his cellular went off. He had no more fished it from its pocket, or opened it, before the one who he addressed spoke.

"Hello, Mr. Surfeit. I apologize for calling and bothering you at this time but I need to speak with you about your electric bill."

The time where the bill companies could "infiltrate" the bank accounts of their clients was long down the road. If one wanted to receive their bills, then pay them, they had to wait for them to be mailed to them then go pick them up after the car or truck went on its way; since he didn't want to run the risk of getting UA-1 by going out to claim the mail, he did a spell that caused his bills to be paid right after they were shipped to him. All of his old engagements were paid off afterwards, then new accounts were made... or, so he thought on the former. According to the man on the phone's other end, he neglected to close his old electric account; he scoffed at himself for letting it continue, and get to where it was, before apologizing then giving the man his bank information then telling him to close the account.

After speaking with the representative from the company that he got electricity from, he decided to call the other companies that he did business with. The first said that all was fine; the same happened when he phoned the second and third company, while a minor issue came up with the fourth. For some reason, the old phone bill that he had wasn't closed completely. The representative that he spoke with on the thirteenth of January only put a pause to it for one week before reopening it then letting it amass to what it was. He cursed under his breath after learning this, then paid what was owed to the company before going to get the account closed—instead of taking it for granted that it was, he asked the Wench who he was talking to if it was truly closed.

The phones in the house were working, as were the other utilities, and he and his son were using them well. While he wanted to use the phone to check-in on his other relatives, he wasn't using it for that. Most, if not all, of his phone-conducted conversations were between him and his daughters; Ebaisha and Eblouissie were still the same, and so was his concern for them. This was the first time that he was using any type of phone to conduct a conversation with someone who wasn't his daughters.

"It's been a pleasure speaking with you, Mr. Surfeit. You have a good day now, and stay safe from what's going around." the Wench on the phone's other end said before disconnecting their line.

"Same here, and you do the same." ShaamVile managed to say before the phone clicked.

Pubba was playing with one of his talking boxes again. He didn't know why but they didn't work for him. Whenever he picked them up, then held them to his ear, he heard nothing; this was frustrating, because they worked for his Pubba, and he used them for a long time too. He had a talking box too, and it worked for both him and his Pubba, so he should be able to hear them when he played with them. Seeing as he was playing with his toy, he went on to look at what was around him... and see what he could grab and then pull apart.

The floor beneath his feet he knew. The one who use to come see him and his Pubba use to bring him here. The other who came with him use to do so too. It was blue, and rock-like, but not slippery or wet. The walls were gray, and rock-like too; he remembered doing as he was now while one or the other of the people who visited him and his Pubba had him, and he also remember their telling him no when he went to touch the things that grew from the pots.

"No, Duru. Look but don't touch." the one who had the horns said.

"They're pretty, and look fun, but they're not meant to be touched." the one with the black hair said.

The one with the hair was the more friendly of the two, he remembered. While the one with the horns followed him around, and told him no when he went to play with something that was in the house, the other would either let him touch or hold them items or say something about their looking fun but not being for one of his age. Even though he told him to not play with the house's many toys, or his food, or stay up when it was time for everyone to go to sleep, the one with the horns was a nice guy; he wondered where he was. The same went with the lady. He remembered their being here, but they weren't now, and he wondered why; the same went with the quiet one who lived with them. The one who his Pubba called his Oocle was gone too; while he wasn't as close to him as he was to the other two, he did miss him.

"They went 'away', son. They're not here anymore, but can see and hear you well." he remembered his Pubba saying some time ago.

What did 'away' mean? He asked his Pubba about it, but he never told him anything on it. He just picked him up, rocked him, then put him down. He felt a pain several times a long time ago, and he felt it again after the 'away' was used; while he wondered why, and even asked his Pubba why he was feeling it, he didn't answer him or tell him about it. Pubba just let him play, or listen to the sounds from the machine that was in the living room, or took him up for a nap. While he was frustrated over the questions that weren't getting answered, and over his throat not wanting to work when he went to ask them, he found himself as not wanting to know them shortly after either wondering or asking about them.

When he came upon the pond, he forgot about his still unanswered questions then went to look at it. He knew this pond, and sometimes did something with it when the horned man, and the lady, weren't watching him. After reaching the pond, which was in a stone pot and almost as tall as he was, he swung his arm; the feeling of his body shivering was felt, as was the sudden emotion of fear that came from it. If not for the squirt of water, that shot from the pond's middle, he would of started to cry. The water splashed some of the nearby plants, and the wall that was behind them, before he dropped his arm then turned to see if his Pubba was behind him; when he saw that he wasn't, he repeated his prior move in making a squirt of water shoot out from the pond. He did this twice more before the feeling of his being tired was felt; seeing as he best stop what he was doing, then find the one who he wanted to be near, he turned then went in the direction that he thought he was in.

"Pubba does that too." DuruVile Bolushi Surfeit thought before reaching a flight of stairs that he couldn't see.

His Pubba was a strong man, and he admired and hoped to be just like him one day. The body that he had right now was small, and he sometimes had trouble with it. He couldn't lift some things, or walk or even run for long without needing to stop, and he also couldn't stay up as long as him. While he'd know that this was caused by his metabolism, and the fact that he was still a toddler, later on in life, he didn't know it now; he wondered why this was happening and if there was a way to stop it. His Pubba played with his toys all day before going to bed, but he seemed to not be interested in playing with his food—why was this on the latter? When he played with his food, he was having fun; his Pubba seemed to like it, as he jumped then ran at him as if he was trying to join him in what he was doing. It wasn't until fairly recently that he stopped doing this, and being a bit hard on him with the other things that he liked to do.

While he missed going outside, and ripping the grass from where it was, or riding on the animal that his Pubba put him on, he felt that something was wrong and that he was being kept from it. Even though he didn't know what was going on to keep him inside, he knew that the house was big and he was having fun in playing in it; he was hoping to play in it for a while longer before the ones who lived in it returned.

"Duru?"

He stopped, then turned around right when the voice that belonged to his Pubba was heard. While he didn't mean to do it, he stepped back twice. The sensation of falling came quickly, as did his reaction in twirling his arms. His Pubba was just coming around the corner, and turning to take him in, when he tumbled head over heels down the stairs then came to a stop at the final step. While he pushed himself up, then rolled over, he couldn't sustain the urge to cry over his misfortune over falling or causing his right arm to hurt.

"Ahhhhhh eh-eh-eh-eh-eh,"

Instead of keeping his eyes on his son while using his cellular, he turned his attention to just the ones that he was talking to. In all, he used his phone for ten minutes before putting it away; his heart came close to skipping a beat when it was in its pocket, and he looked up and then around. While he didn't experience what he did in the park last year, he came close to. After seeing that he was alone, and his son was nowhere in sight, he called out for him then went to find him; all while looking for him, he told himself that he was fine and in a room that was more than safe for him to be in.

His son was nearly on the other side of the room. He was just past the vortex fountain, that was flanked on one side by poisonous flowers and on the other by normal, safe flowers—his father was the one to put the fountain, and the flowers on its right side, in the room; he wanted a sense of masculinity to be in the room and he achieved this by putting them in it. At every twenty to thirty minute intervals, the fountain's water would rise and then form a vortex. Due to the spray from the funnel cresting over to the flowers that were on either side of it, no one had to water them. While he liked the design of the fountain, and kept it in the room, he wasn't a fan of the poisonous Terinobies; he meant to get rid of them before his son and he moved in but he never got around to doing it.

The Terinobies were a bright orange and gray color. They sat low to the soil of their pots, but had thick stalks and leaves. While the plant's poison could put an adult out of commission for up to an hour, it could kill a child. The poison wasn't transferred by the bud, or stalk; instead, it was the leaves that it was on. All while looking for his son, he found torn flowers on the floor or pots that were on their sides. The fountain had ten minutes before its built-in feature started, yet the flowers on one of its sides looked wet. He gave the Terinobies a glance, just to see if they were tampered with, then felt his blood boil when the cry met his ears.

"The brat wouldn't be crying if he stayed near you, and didn't wander off." his mind clicked away.

"He doesn't know any better." ShaamVile thought.

"Look at the flowers! The two pots that are on their sides!"

"The pots can be righted, and there's no big deal on the flowers that were torn from where they were."

"He does this all the time! Runs off, destroys something, gets hurt then starts crying, and gives you a big scare in the process."

"He's only two hundred and six years old—a toddler for crying out loud!"

His mind continued to click away things that his son did with his time. He, at first, tried to explain them away; after reaching the stairs that his son fell down, then seeing that he was bleeding, he stopped trying to make them seem so innocent. Duru _was_ giving him trouble. The routine of his running up to the hired help, then trying to trip them up. The act of his throwing his food around. His drawing on the floor, walls, and living room couch. He came very close to destroying two of his grandfather's records nine days ago, then actually went through in doing so yesterday. Duru decided to jump from the tub twice two weeks ago; instead of making the upstairs carpets get all wet and soap-sudded, he did that and jumped into his bed and made all of his sheets wet. The routine of his wanting to sleep only when he wanted to was getting worse, as was the new thing of his screaming for no reason.

He went down the flight of five steps quickly while his mind spewed its infection. When he reached his son, he wasn't gentle or kind. The act of his calming him down didn't happen, nor did his checking out his elbow. The seat of Duru's green pants were grabbed, then his son was ripped up. He told him to shut up, then pushed him to get going.

Duru staggered away from him, then turned to look at him. His eyes disclosed his shock, and confusion, over what was going on. While he was still crying, he wasn't as hysterical as he use to be. Now, he was just snuffling, which was still too much for him. After two minutes passed, and his son continued to snuffle, he reached up. The branch of one of the room's few garden trees was ripped from its source, then shredded of its leaves; all while his mind screamed at him to not do it, he rushed forward then grabbed the one who he thought was defying him.

Never had he been so brutal with his son, or any of his other children, for that matter. While he had branches, whips, and fists taken to him, he had never laid no more than the palm of his hand, or a rolled up newspaper, on the backsides of his offspring. Duru screamed after the stick struck him; in all, it took him three minutes of savagery before he stopped his assault then backed away. Duru, who was just given a very wrong disciplining, crawled from him then ran off to another portion of the room; while he wasn't crying anymore, he did look rather shocked over what just happened.

"What have I done!" ShaamVile wailed after realizing his mistake. The stick was still in his hand; after replaying what just happened, then seeing it, he destroyed it by using his Elemental Fire powers. After doing this, he went to find his son.

He ran all throughout the room. While he wanted to do it, he couldn't bear to do so—with his just beating his son for no reason, he might run off to some other part of the house, or get quite hysterical, if he heard his name being called. The one who was suppose to be his ever-loving father, caregiver, and protector had turned into being a monster and he probably thought of him as such.

"You see what you've caused!" ShaamVile chided himself while looking for his son. "You, with your adult mind, just let your stress over being cooped up overtake you. And you let it be released on one who's not more than a fuckin' baby!"

It took a while before he found the boy who he mistreated. Duru was all hunkered down between two of the room's glass pots. When he saw him, he issued a small sound then, when he dropped to his knees before him, he jerked away. He, the one who created this boy, and was suppose to be gentle with him for the first four hundred years of his life before getting a little more firm with him, did nothing. His eyes stared at his son's for the longest of time before he reached into his back pants pocket. Duru had gained a keen interest in fruit leather while being here, and he was making it for him once a week; after taking the roll of candy from his pocket, then unrolling it from its paper, he held it out.

"It's Apricot, son." ShaamVile said after two minutes passed and his son didn't take what he was offering him. Of the flavors that he made for him, his son seemed to like Apricot and Mulberry the most.

His son refused to take the candy. Even though he didn't want it, he didn't return it to his pocket. Seeing as Duru was so traumatized by what just happened to him, he sat before the vase that was beside the one that he was hiding between then spoke to him. As was natural, he apologized for what he did, and promised to not do it again, then offered a slew of things as a way to make up for it. While it took a while, his son did leave his hiding spot. He was slow in crawling out from where he was, and he eyed him warily after seeing him, but he didn't run off or put any distance between them. After two minutes passed, he gave him the fruit leather then held his arms out; Duru was hesitant to take the candy, but he wasn't when he came to him.

He hugged his son, kissed him, then hugged him some more before releasing him. Duru chewed on his candy all the while. It was only when he released him that he returned to being like his old self. After seeing the happy-go-lucky air that the Lad carried around himself, he sighed then stood up. Once on his feet, he lunged for his son; there was no contest or fight on his hands when he picked him up, or put him on his shoulders. Once his son's legs were on either side of his head, his hat was snatched from his head then placed on the one that he helped to make.

"Trying to look like me up there, Lad?" ShaamVile said after going to leave the room.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh, uh-huh!" DuruVile replied before leaning down to look his father in the eye. "Kee-I? Kee-I, Pubba?"

"Who's stopping you?" ShaamVile replied while ducking low, then turning to close the garden's door. After the door was closed, he lifted his son from his shoulders then placed him down in front of him.

"N-uhn! N-uhn, Pubba!" DuruVile jumped twice, then hugged his father.

"Good, Lad." ShaamVile gave his son's shoulder a pat, then led him to where the bigger kitchen was. His son was given the promise of getting some ice cream while in the garden and by golly gosh was he to get some—after what he just went through, he thought he more than deserved it. "Don't you let anyone one tell you otherwise, okay?"

"Yeh! Yeh!" DuruVile grabbed his father by the leg, then wrapped himself around it. ShaamVile sighed, then looked at the ceiling, before continuing to the kitchen.


	18. Chapter 18

If not for his decision to do something new with his time, he wouldn't of found what he did on the nineteenth. While farting around in the living room, he came across a little hole in the ceiling. Once his finger went across it, and he noticed it, he dropped the duster then went to retrieve a ladder; he was astonished to learn that it had a red light attached to it a few seconds later. With the detection of the light being made, he removed a section of the ceiling then went to look at it more intently. Like with his shock over seeing the light, he was shocked to see that it was connected to a box, which was black, bulky, and had a set of wires sticking out of its back. With his seeing the lense on the end that the light was on, he identified it as being a camera.

The following day, after finding a similar box in one of the two kitchens, he went to see if any of the other rooms had them in them. Like with his previous bout of surprise, he was surprised to find that most of the rooms that he checked had one in them. With his finding what he did, he began to wonder why they were there. It took him two seconds to answer that question, and then calm down over worrying about their existence.

"My father, either before moving into the house or while living in it, must of decided to put them in it." ShaamVile remembered thinking on the twentieth.

With his living in a place where such equipment was known to exist in, this was very natural. His grandfather, before any of his children were born, was thought of as a little paranoid when he rigged the castle's cameras up. While he didn't think he was paranoid, he did think it was a little weird; when he spoke on this during his childhood, the man came back by saying that they helped him in keeping up with his staff's activities, and with ensuring that everyone who visited was where they were suppose to be or, if they were missing, where they were so they could be retrieved. After the man's children were born, he used them to keep up with them and their activities. With his being a grown man, he now knew that them cameras came in handy to IackVile Uovo Surfeit—seeing as the ones in the house that use to be owned by his grandfather's youngest son were doing their job, he left them where they were.

On the twenty-first, he devoted some of his time to looking for the room where the monitors and camera link-ups were.

"It was on the same level that they're on." ShaamVile found himself as thinking.

He had to laugh when he found it, because it wasn't that difficult to find or hidden somewhere. The room where the surveillance equipment was in was nothing more than a closet. It was on the hallway that the back door was on. While it was cramped on the inside, it was neat and tidy; he was able to see everything that happened on the first level since he and his son moved into the house while being in it. While in the room, he tried to find the logs of what happened to his father, stepmother, and brother before they died. He found himself disappointed, because his search yielded no results; the logs started on the day of his and Duru's residence in the house to today, the thirtieth of February.

While in the room, he found that it was just the first level that was bugged. The second was free of cameras, as was the employee quarters. He guessed that his father thought the first level was the most worrisome of the house's interior—if anything happened, it was more likely to happen on it, so he thought the camera placements were a good idea. The two kitchens, library, living room, gym, one of the two gardens, and the dining room was where they were. Only one of the level's hallways had a camera on it, while there was a camera before both of the doors. While in the room, he made a copy of what happened in the garden on the thirteenth—if anything, he wanted proof of what happened so it'd not ever happen again.

"As long as I use the gym's punching bag when I get to being especially on-edge, it won't." ShaamVile thought while sustaining the urge to go to the nearest window, then look out it.

Duru had shown how quick he was to forgive him after the event in the garden happened. While he was unsure of him when he made any sudden movements during the three days that occurred after it, he didn't keep him at a distance or get to being fearful of him. He spoiled his son for the first two days, then returned to how he was with him on the ones that followed; Duru's sleeping habits changed during the initial two-day period before returning to normal, while he took five days to return to throwing his food around. So far, he hadn't drawn on the floor, walls, or furniture since the event happened, but he was back to being his usual energetic self. When they visited the room where the event took place in, his son was a little nervous but not so much as to be reluctant to check out its various plants or run around—while in the room on the seventeenth, he took to removing the poisonous plants from where they were. Until the disease was beat, the pots that they were in would be empty.

Most of their time was spent with recovering from the event in the garden. After spoiling his son, then returning to how he was with him, he started taking him to the library then reading to him. He thought he should get a head-start on his son's education, and what better way to do that than to read to him. The library had an array of toddler-appropriate books, that were mostly picture-oriented but had some dialogue with them that was easy to say, in it and he sorted through all of them before picking the ones that his son might like best. While reading to his son, and pointing out what shape this was, what color that was, and what this animal was, he found that Duru seemed to like lizards—Duru's fascination with monkeys was nearly there from the start, since he purchased and then gave him nothing but monkey toys to sleep or have around him, while the one on lizards was new. He was a little nervous about his retaining it—the act of owning the animal was new, but looked to be a firm fixture with people; while he knew the ones who owned lizards said they were a fine addition to their home, and were almost as good as the regular assortment of pets, he did worry about the animals turning on their masters or possibly being venomous. The last he wanted was for his son to get hurt, so the idea of keeping or even having lizards wasn't to happen during his lifetime—or, so he thought and believed; he'd find himself as being quite surprised later on in life, after being returned from Limbo then finding that his son had them as pets.

If he wasn't reading to his son, and getting a head-start on his education, he was looking after him. A father's job never stopped, and he was hoping that his never did when it came to Duru. Like with his daughters, he was hoping to be a forever fixture in his creations' life. On the twenty-third, he was given a small scare when his son started showing the signs of his ear hurting him—it took him two days of thinking and being hysterical over his son having UA-1 before grabbing and then looking at his ear. To his shock, he found that Duru stuck one of his Laego's in it. While his son was sleeping, he extracted the toy then heaved a sigh of relief—why his son put it in his ear was beyond him; he was now planning to watch him when he played with this toy of his.

"Yes, daddy, everything over here is doing well. Me and Ebaisha haven't come down with "the disease", or are going to." EblouissieVile said after he called her yesterday.

He sighed when he remembered the conversation that he had with his daughter. She, and her sister, just didn't see point in doing as he was. The reports on UA-1 were still coming in almost every day, and things didn't look good because of it, yet they were still being as free as could be with going out and doing their usual. He understood they had bills to pay, and needed to keep food in the cabinets and on the table, but he didn't understand why they were blowing their money on anything and everything that they saw. When he questioned them on the money that Malakay put to the side for them, they responded by saying that it was nearly gone—it was used on gambling instead of the necessities. With his being holed up in the house, and not wanting to leave it for risk of getting the disease, he couldn't go to them then pour out the stern routine on their doing as he said for them to; the phone was the only logical thing for him to use to keep up with them, and he could only be but so stern on it. While he wasn't calling them every day, he was ringing them up twice a week—even though they seemed to enjoy getting his calls, and talking to him, they were showing the signs of growing frustrated with his continuous concern for them.

"Let them be frustrated. They can be as frustrated as can be but I'll still call and ask how they are and what they're using their money on." ShaamVile thought.

The urge to look outside started four days ago. Up to now, he was doing a fine job in staying away from the windows and not going towards them to remove one or more of their boards from where they were. From where he was, he could tell it was raining. The weather, for most of the days that they were stuck in the house, was decent; he still told himself that the isolation was worth it when he started to think of the things that he and Duru were missing out on. For the last three days, it was either very windy or windy and raining. He didn't know why, but he had a dream yesterday that revolved around a water spout tearing the house to pieces, splitting him from his son, then birthing two infants, one being very faint while the other was bathed in silhouette—he wanted to say it was something from the feature that he and his son watched last night, as it was right crazy, and didn't make a bit of sense, but something told him that the conclusion had meaning behind it. He and his son were unscathed from being flung, then found each other right after colliding with the ground, while the babies just disappeared. When he woke up, he thought he heard the cries of a hysterical woman and then a very faint baby cry; when he turned to see if it was his son who was making them sounds, he found that he was sound asleep.

He was by the window that faced the cemetery. This window was close to the laundry room, which was occupied by a lone maid who was getting the week's worth of clothing dried and then folded. It was very well boarded up, but he thought he could pry one of the boards back then look outside. He was wondering if he could do it without getting UA-1, or causing it to get in the house; his throat clicked as he went to the window to try it out. All while he tested one of its boards, his mind screamed at him to not do it; while trying to ignore the voice in his head, he reached his fingers between the board that he was touching and the window's glass then, with a slight tug, pulled it back. There was a small, protesting sound as the board was pulled from where it was, but no one heard it; after the board was free from its station, he went to look out the small sliver of space that light came in from.

"Hello to all of you. One of these days, I'll be out there to speak to you, I promise." ShaamVile said to the ones who were buried in the cemetery.

The small sliver of space only let him take in a small bit of what was going on outside. After seeing how limited he was in seeing what he wanted, he looked to see if anyone was leaving the laundry room or coming down the hallway. When he saw that the hallway was clear, and the maid was still busy with the clothes, he took the board from where it was then removed the one beneath it. With the second board down, he was now able to see more than what he was initially allowed to. He was surprised by what his view provided him with—except for the carcasses of the birds, which looked to of dropped from the sky, everything looked normal. The artificial turf was wet; the sky was a two-tone, gray color; the rain was ponding near the cemetery's start; and it was very quiet. After seeing this, he leaned his head against the still-there boards.

UA-1 was serious, and present, but everything looked nearly the same out there. He thought that the carcasses could be from the birds who didn't seek shelter during the windy periods, or get under something before the early morning radiation came in, and the acid rains fell. There were no other deceased animals on the ground, and he definitely didn't see what he thought he'd see in maybe a dead or dying person lying out somewhere, possibly hoping to find some sympathizing person to help them or somewhere to die peacefully in. What he was seeing was making it hard for him to believe that a disease was going on—it just didn't look very disease-like out there.

There were moments where the window either fogged up or became so distorted with rainwater that he couldn't see out of it. He waited for it to clear up then, when it did, he gasped. His eyes grew wide as he watched what just came into view. If not for the disease going on, and his being a religious man, he wouldn't be thinking what he was.

"No! _No!_ Please, _no!"_ his mind screamed as the board, that he was holding, fell from his hand.

"It's a trick of the rain, and the window... Has to be—look at it! It's not..." ShaamVile tried to rationally say.

"No! Grab your book, and coins! Protect yourself and the ones around you for it's here and looking for victims!" his mind continued. His pulse started to increase as the window started to fog over, and the area around him grew cold. "It's here! It's Ardat-LiAcheri, and it's—"

"Oh Merciful Gods, please protect me and my son from the sight before me. We are clean, and deserve no evil like this to be near or coming for us." ShaamVile spoke in a low, but clear, voice.

While collecting the board, then slapping it back to where it was, he thought about what he saw. Even though he wasn't attending mass anymore, he was reading his bible and continuing his faith; while it looked off, it was easy for him to believe that what he saw was a demon.

According to the Good Book, the Universe use to be nothing but a big, black space. One night, the Gods decided to make use of it; by spinning in its center, they used their essence to create a burst of light, which caused the various stars, spheres, and suns to form and then spread out to where they currently were. An explosion happened next, which created the matter that the planets were made of; the Gods collected it while continuing to spin then made all of the planets for each of the newborn galaxies before sending them out to where they wanted them to be. Each galaxy had an equal number of a thousand planets in it, and the Gods wanted each of them to sustain a certain form of life that they were planning to make next. Before going on to make the lifeforms that were to inhabit them newly made planets, the Devil and his men came in to reek havoc on their work.

A much more violent version of what the yet-evolved humans perceived as the birth of the Universe happened next. The Devil and his men had a merry old time with what was out there. The sources that were made to produce heat, light, and warmth either exploded very violently or grew to being so cold that they couldn't provide what they were made for; planets either crumbled, exploded, or collided with one another as if being used like marbles; and a plethora of black holes were made. The latter was said to be responsible for the demise of a quarter of the newly-made planets, and around two whole galaxies. By the time the Gods came in to stop this, nearly half of their work was destroyed. Through a mighty battle, they beat back the Devil and his henchmen then went to see what they could save of their work; after using the rubble from the destroyed planets to make the moons, then dispersing them to each of the still-present planets, they made the lifeforms that were to inhabit them planets then sat back to watch their work grow and flourish.

While nothing was said in the Book about what the Devil's henchmen looked like, there were people out there who claimed that they had contact with them. These people described a good many of scary apparitions. While most of the apparitions were scary enough to cause the likes of even he to shiver in their shoes, some were said to be shrouded in black; along with going by a variety of names, and being associated with a menagerie of things, the latter almost looked like a fan or the wind was blowing on or at them because their image wasn't steady or stable. What he saw was yellow, and rather bulky. It was slowly making its way to the cemetery, and it looked to be carrying something in its arms—something that looked around the size of a small dog, and not very heavy.

"Ow!" ShaamVile snapped after his hysteria, and the board, caused a palm-length cut to appear on his hand.

While slapping the two boards back, then nailing them in place, he remembered what Ardat-LiAcheri was. He, if such a gender had to be given, it might as well be male since demonic entities almost never took on the female appearance, was usually said to be color-shifting and always associated with disease-bringing. This demon was also said to target one group of people—the young. Whenever he was seen, or thought to be seen, he always had a bundle with him, which told the deed of why he was there. All while pounding the two boards back to where they were originally at, and causing his hand to bleed more, he prayed and thought about his son.

Duru was his life. The only thing left of his Egla, his only son, and one who depended on him for everything. If he lost him to anything, he'd be a lost man and have no further purpose in life. The loss of the family who died last year had made him feel like a part of him was lost and never to return; he'd really feel low if he lost his son.

After finishing the work on the boards, then backing away from them, he said one final prayer. This one was based on protection, and he hoped that the Gods would hear it because he more than ever wanted it now. After saying this prayer, he turned then went to the nearest bathroom—while he wanted to check on Duru, and see if he was okay, and untouched by the forces of pure evil, he also wanted to fix up his hand. Along with not wanting his son to be hurt, or lose him, he didn't want to scare him—the sight of his hand being all cut up, and bleeding, might just do that with his two hundred and six year old.

"It was yellow instead of clear or gray. Right after it made a mess of the house, then split me and Duru from one another, it spat them babies out. It then dissipated." he thought while washing his hands, then using the bathroom's medical supplies to clean the one's wound.

The whole house was demolished, but the cemetery wasn't touched. He remembered that part of the dream well. While there were bits and pieces of metal, wood, and rock lying everywhere from the ruined house, and the ground was saturated, the cemetery was fine. He found himself as picking himself up from where the barn use to be, while Duru came running up from where the driveway was; the two of them had no reached one another before their gazes turned to the infants, who were in an area surrounded by debris but weren't lying on anything that'd hurt them. The dream stopped after he scooped his son up, and them babies disappeared. While he still wanted to pin the feature that was watched last night on its occurrence, he still felt that the conclusion had meaning to it—whatever it was, he didn't know. Except for Bahne, he knew no one who was expecting a child. Bahne was the only one in his family to be pregnant last year, but he was sure that she was fine and, furthermore, had already delivered her baby.

His uncle, he remembered, was a little on the unsure side after his wife was discovered to be pregnant with their first child. With their not having any children before Danan was born, and he having no experience in how one of the male gender felt after hearing that he was facing the shadow of fatherhood, he grew to being a bit fearful of the ordeal. He remembered that it took the combined efforts of Rosol and his father to get the man straight both when Bahne was declared pregnant and after she had Danan; when Dazass was born, Trobrencus was a very different man. Instead of being unsure, and fearful, over fathering another child, he was happy. He was his old, usual self when Dazass was born—a little emotional, which was only him, as he was one who was prone to show his emotions, but happy over the new arrival and proud over creating her. He was sure that his uncle was faring well in his bunker—probably a little claustrophobic over being stuck underground, and emotional over the birth of his new child, but fine. He wasn't really concerning himself on the man. TrobrencusVile Bloym Surfeit took drastic measures in building an underground bunker, then moved his family to it right after its construction was complete; in a way, he wished that he and his had heeded his advice in following him to it, because a lot of lives would of been spared and a lot of heartbreak would of been avoided.

He finished the dressing of his hand, then left the bathroom. He was purposeful in avoiding the window that he looked out of. Once to a hallway that he deemed as safe, he hurried along to where his son was. When he left his son, he was taking a nap in the living room. He was in his playpen, and had his toys around him, when he went to get in some exercise by walking along some of the hallways. He had only just started his exercise when the urge to look out the window was felt. Once he was before the window that he looked out of, he couldn't go forward much less turn around. That window just drew him in and he, in a way, didn't stop it from getting that pleasure. He cursed himself for letting the one that he thought was a Demon grab his attention, and he cursed himself for taking them boards down then looking out to see what was going on outside.

"If anyone comes down with that cursed disease, it's all my fault. Never should of taken them boards down—with UA-1 going on, and claiming what it is, I should know better than to be so open to looking out windows." ShaamVile thought before entering the living room.

The playpen was where it should be—in the room's center. The whole room looked the same, and the vibe, that was in it, was tranquil. By all appearances, the one who was in the pen was still sleeping; he wasted little time in going to it, then peering in. When he saw the slight movement of his son bending his leg in, he smiled then sighed. Duru, who was doing his usual in sleeping while being all stretched out, was fine. He checked him for a temperature, then looked him over for blemishes, before shaking his head then going to sit on the couch.

"Sweet babe from my loins," ShaamVile said after sitting down. "your papa won't be so foolish again. The windows, and doors, are to be avoided, and no boards from them shall be removed from here on out to when it's declared safe for everyone to resume normal living."


	19. 15 Years Into The Plague

When it was said that it'd be a six month wait for the cure to be made, he took it as just that on how long the disease would be virulent. He battled his anxiety over being cooped up during that time, and continued to tell himself that it wasn't that bad; over the course of two years, he won the battle on convincing himself on this, while the one concerning his anxiety was still on-going. He thought he had a good enough grip on it to not experience what he did in the garden. As the months stretched into years, he put himself, and his son, on a schedule that'd change every so often so they wouldn't get bored. He increased his time in socializing with the ones who worked for him too. With Duru not having anyone his age to associate with, he spent a lot of time with him; his premature education was still being done, and he even started showing him a few of the beginner moves with the powers that he hoped he had.

When two years turned into three, and then four and five, he started tallying how long he and his son were in the house. Right now, he was in the office. The board was before him, and he was about to put a new pin on it. On this pin was a small, slip of paper that read June 10, 3871,221,109,002—fifteen years had passed since the house was willed to him, and he and son moved into it. He couldn't believe that the wait for the cure had spanned this long, and he bet, and knew, a lot of others were thinking the same. According to the ever-revolving list of news anchors who ran the news, the scientists were working hard to find the cure; if this was true, then why wasn't it already out there? People could of long since returned to their lives. The pain could of been long past, and new lives could of been born to take the edge from the voids that the lost ones left behind.

"Took nearly six months for the galaxy's lower sector to be swallowed up in the disease." ShaamVile thought before putting the pin where it needed to go.

After sticking the pin where it needed to go, he thought about the disease's reach. It took five years for word to be heard on the galaxies, that were located just within the Universe's middle sector, being effected by it. It seemed that UA-1 was to have a near unprecedented reach; people were saying that it might effect the entire population of the Universe if it didn't get a cure before year twenty came around. Except for when Spli was making history, no other disease was this concerning. The ones who owned the news outlets were having trouble in keeping their slots appointed with people who were educated in them, and it was said that the temperature had dropped on several planets since people took to their homes for fear of getting what was going around. No further word was given on the galaxy's ruler, or his family, so no one knew if they were alive or not. While he was still recording the reports that were given on the disease, he was no longer going up to view them—he retained the desire in doing this by concerning himself with his son, who, in the last fifteen years, had grown by two inches.

With the pin in the board, he turned his attention to the pieces of paper before him. Just recently, he was sent some documents on two of his galaxies encountering an issue with an illness that couldn't be corralled. The ones who ran his medical board in the GG-135 and Lyrae Galaxies faxed all available records of what was going on; when he received them, then looked them over, he detected the undeniable signs of UA-1 happening in them. Like with the ruler of his birth galaxy, he instructed for the gates of both galaxies to be closed and for everyone in them to take Jaboa—after explaining why, he told the ones in charge of his medical board in both locales that they needed to get on the stick in getting some samples of what was going around and then test them with the hope to produce a sort of cure to what was going around. He was sent the documents four days ago; from what he received two hours ago, his orders were being complied with.

The GG-135 was located in his quadrant, but further north than the M-51 Galaxy. With it being in this part of the Universe, and UA-1 being known to be in this part of the Universe, it was no surprise that it was feeling its effects. It was a shock that the Lyrae Galaxy was feeling the disease's effects—it was a southern-lying galaxy, but located just within the Universe's middle sector. While he wanted to warn his medical boards in the Nodostram, Dlur, and Terpsichore Galaxies, he didn't want to produce a panic—the disease was here, and serious, and it might just reach them too, but he saw no reason to produce mass hysteria with his people. The ones who lived in his conquered realms knew he was stuck on Gamma Vile, and they knew why, but they didn't know about how far the disease's reach was; in the years to come, he'd curse himself for not telling them this, and also grow to feeling a bit foolish over not doing as Teluder Kakian did in sending word on the disease's reach to the ones who he both ruled over and saw as an ally. Mr. Kakian's people knew of the situation with him and the disease, while the ones who he ruled over didn't know squat on what was going on.

So far, nothing was being said on anyone coming down with any illnesses in his other galaxies. The Nodostram Galaxy was located to the far reaches of the Universe's western side; since Zaal's passing, he had heard little to nothing from it or the ones who acted as his subordinates. The Dlur Galaxy was a little more to the north of the Universe's middle sector, so it might be safe from contamination. The Terpsichore Galaxy was another of his galaxies that were located in the Universe's far western reaches; like with the Nodostram, he had heard nothing from it in a long time. Seeing as he had nothing but time on his side, and his son was busy with taking a nap, he wrote out a letter to the first official that came to his mind in the two galaxies that he hadn't heard from in a while then faxed it over to them. Following this, he sat back then waited.

"Use the phone while you wait." his mind told him.

"I should wait until I hear back from Occoziss and Rheyra before doing that." ShaamVile told himself.

"It's quite late in the Nodostram and Terpsichore Galaxies, so they'll probably not get back to you for a while." his mind said.

"It's just wise to wait for a reply from them. I can always use the phone later."

His daughters were still receiving calls from him, and his concern for them was now at an all time high. Neither of them were telling him what they were doing, so he didn't know if they were heeding his advice in playing the low game or continuing as they were in not showing a worry about the disease. During one call a few years ago, he thought he heard a man's voice in Eblouissie's apartment—his daughters were grown women and, while he liked to entertain himself with thinking that they were still pure, and waiting until that perfect man came into their lives to engage in any type of sex, he knew they weren't virgins. When he heard that voice, his mind automatically placed it as belonging to his daughter's still-present lover. Naturally, when he questioned Eblouissie on who was in her apartment, she came back with saying that it was just her in it; what he heard was the tv.

Curiously, Ebaisha was the more open of the two when it came to men. She spoke of her preferences when the subject was brought up; she listed the number of children she wanted to have, and the gender ratios that she hoped they'd be; and she also mentioned some of the men that she dated or had an interest in. As of the last two years, his daughter's conversations on these subjects had dropped to next to nothing. While he wanted to ask her why she wasn't talking of her "lovers", or crushes, anymore, he thought he had the answer—UA-1 was either keeping the ones that she desired home or it killed them.

He hoped that his daughters were playing it safe, and were safe in this time. He'd hate to lose them, or have to go through life without them. Unless to call them, he didn't use the house's landlines for any other number. After thirty minutes passed, and he didn't receive correspondence to his faxes, he reached for the desk's phone. He toyed with it by lifting it then letting it drop, then he picked it up with the intent to use it before putting it back down; it took two terms of his putting it to his ear, then returning it to its station, before he decided to dial a number. Seeing as he hadn't heard from his sisters in fifteen years, he dialed their number—Varai moved in with Olia and Shovot after their father died; he suspected that she was still under their roof, so he didn't dial her number when he placed his call.

He was surprised when his first call didn't go through. With his brow furrowed, he dialed it again. When the second wasn't answered, he grew concerned. What was going on with his sister? Was she sick, dead, asleep, or did she just decide to let the phone go in her abode? With his heart pounding away in his chest, he dialed the number again then waited; unlike the last two times, this one was answered. While the sigh of his call being answered was audible, his concern over the one who answered it wasn't. It took him one guess to know that the one on the other end wasn't well right after she asked who it was that was calling her.

"Hello? Who's this?" the older of his younger sisters asked.

"Your older brother." ShaamVile replied. He hoped that his concern wasn't evident in his voice—his sister sounded terrible!

"Shaam!" his sister coughed twice, then produced something that sounded like a sniffle, before getting control of herself.

"Olia, you alright? You sound a little under the weather."

"Been sick for a little over a week now, but I'll be fine." OliaVile Klahie Gotaela assured him. "How's things for you? How's Duru—please tell me he's alright."

He told his sister that his son was fine. Growing like he hoped he was, but still underweight for one of his age. He also told her that Duru was learning, and now saying more than plain 'Pubba'. After telling Olia about his son, then giving her the scoop on him and how he felt over being cooped up, he grew to being more than a little concerned—his sister started coughing, and didn't stop for the longest of time, before growing very quiet. It was only when he asked if she was still there that he learned of how sick she really was.

"Yeah, I'm here. This cough's been getting worse by the minute, and I've been dealing with nose bleeds and these bumps on my neck and armpits for the last five hours." OliaVile relayed. His heart sank—what she just described was, or could be, linked to the disease. If not for his needing to keep his composure, he would of started to cry over her soon-to-be demise. For his sister's sake, he controlled himself.

"How's everyone over at your place?" ShaamVile mustered the courage to ask.

"Varai's fine. Looks healthy." OliaVile replied.

"And Shovot?"

There was a long pause before a response was given. Like with the realization of his sister having the disease, his heart sank when she told him of how her son died. Little ShovotVile Zvoth Gotaela was healthy for all of six years then he up and died. According to his mother, he died in his sleep just shy of his sixth birthday; she said that he was covered in bruises, and had protuberances on his groin. On the night before his death, he was detected as having a slight temperature but was healthy upon being put to bed. Olia had gotten the mortician to bag him, but he wasn't yet buried. Like him and Duru, she took to keeping her, Shovot, and Varai in her small house. She was hoping to stay in the house until word was received on the cure being given then going out to get it for the ones who lived in it. Shovot's body, after being readied for burial, and then bagged, was put in the meat freezer in the crawlspace. He presumed that it was still there; he made a note on it, then on when he died and the day in which he learned of his sister being sick.

The piece of paper, that he wrote them three things on, was no more slid to the side when he learned something on his mother and her family.

"Have you heard from anyone else besides me?" OliaVile asked in her dry, sick-sounding voice.

"With the exception of my daughters, no. You're the only one that I've called." ShaamVile replied.

"Haven't heard from anyone in six months, and haven't heard a thing about you or your son since you moved into daddy's old home." OliaVile said. There was silence on the line for five minutes before she spoke again. "I suppose you know nothing on how our mother's faring?"

"No. How's she, and her family, doing?"

The facts on the two's meeting wasn't known to him. All he knew was that his mother and Luyuk Puhon started dating six months after the divorce was finalized, then were married ten years later. The two seemed to have a fairy tale type of relationship with one another. Luyuk showed his mother the most love a man could while his mother reciprocated and returned it well. At times, Luyuk was known to nearly suffocate her with his affections for her, that was how much he loved her. The man who his mother was married to was a lawyer, and was considered to be one of the best in the Gamacks District; the two had two children together—Miyna, who was in her early teens, and said to be alive and well, and Vaaho, who was three hundred years older than Duru and, sadly, said to be deceased.

Frahfrie Cloridona claimed that it was his father who prevented her from having children during the first twenty-one thousand years that they were married while his father said it was all on her on the first part of their marriage being childless. While no one knew the exact cause of the two's lack of children in the early part of their marriage, they knew that a near-repeat happened with Luyuk after she married him. It wasn't until one thousand, two hundred, and twenty-two years ago that they had their first child, then it took seven hundred and one years for the second to be conceived. He had to slap his hand to his forehead when he remembered what his father was known to blurt when the subject of the pair came up—according to RaalVile Dawlur Surfeit, his ex-wife did things fast and obviously didn't care for the ones who she just severed her bonds to. One only needed to be around his mother to know that this wasn't true; she still spoke to the members of her ex-family and looked after them when something came up. During the first two thousand years of their marriage, he and his full-siblings had to be careful whenever they went to see their mother; if word on their visit was made, their father would give them a look then start ringing out the mad ramblings on if they saw any lovey-duvy cuteness with them.

According to his sister, Frahfrie Cloridona wasn't just lacking her youngest child but also her husband. Vaaho died two years ago, while his father died a little under six months ago. While Vaaho's neck swelled to three times its size, and was covered in protuberances, Luyuk found himself as having just one protuberance on him. Vaaho died after his neck exploded, while Luyuk's perishing happened in a bar and after he started coughing and then convulsing. Mr. Luyuk Puhon died while on the way to the hospital. His mother, while wanting to go to the hospital to see and then give him her support, decided to stay home and look after their only surviving child.

"Luyuk never recovered from Vaaho's passing, Shaam. Right after hearing it, he quit his job then started making a habit out of going to the bar each night. Sometimes, he didn't come home until it was very late." OliaVile finished the relaying of what she was telling him.

"That... is a shock." ShaamVile replied. He swallowed before speaking again. "How's mother and Miyna doing? Neither are sick, right?"

"Not that I know o—"

The cough, this time, was more extreme. He went from trying to keep his composure to completely hysterical as his sister dropped the phone then started hacking. His voice echoed throughout the room as he called out to Olia, then tears welled up when he heard the voice of Varai coming in to see if she could give her some help. When Olia refused their sister's assistance, he shouted for her to stop resisting the help offered to her; Varai must of heard him, because she grabbed the phone then spoke into it. Varai, who was sans her husband and young son, said that it was nice to hear from him, and that she liked hearing his voice, but that he shouldn't call or bother himself with concerning himself over them anymore. He was about to ask why he should do that when a scream was heard on the phone's other end, then the phone went dead.

Like an idiot, he sat there, saying hello again and again. On two occasions, he grabbed the phone's cord then pulled it to see if it was still connected to the outlet that it went to. After five minutes passed, he realized what was happening; the blood ran through his body like lava when he discovered that Varai hung up on him, and that Olia might of died some minutes ago. When he realized this, he slammed the phone down then shoved himself from it. He had just done this when the fax machine made a sound. His throat clicked when he swallowed, then he turned to see what it was that was being sent to him. His hands shook when he reached the machine that was running, and continued to do so when he took the sheet of paper from it then held it up for reading. While his hands grew steady after the words were read, his eyes grew wide.

 _To Whom It May Concern,_

 _It's good to hear from you after so long. Unfortunately, I fear that the news that I have to give you isn't good. Of the estimated six billion in the Nodostram Galaxy, only one billion can be accounted for. We are fighting disease, which doesn't seem to want to lift or move on. Mr. Occoziss Nutzol is deceased, as is most in his family; the one who your correspondence has reached was appointed Mr. Nutzol's position immediately after his decease. We aren't sure of what to do, sir. Our medical professionals are working to find what's causing the illness that's running rampant here, and our security detail are trying to keep all parties within the galaxy from leaving. Civil and religious unrest is heavy, as is criminal activity. The men and women who run the military and police force aren't able to keep up because their numbers are low, as are supplies._

 _Hope that you're doing well, and can help broaden our knowledge on what's going on. Your people within the Nodostram Galaxy have questioned and worried about you; should I disclose that word was received from you today?_

 _Governor-Appointed Sheriff, Albateen Uglabloo_

His shock over what was received was no more taking effect before word from the Terpsichore Galaxy came in. A secretary by the name of Tzensah Tyduc claimed that all of the appointed members of his subordinate team were dead, as were the ones who took over their slots. Like with Mr. Uglabloo, she requested help from him, and told him about the galaxy experiencing civil and religious upheaval and that the police force and military couldn't come in to stop it because of their numbers being so low. After receiving this correspondence, he wrote both people a letter then faxed it over. In this letter, he disclosed that they were to close the gates of their respective galaxies, issue out Jaboa to the surviving population, and spread the word on a possible Universal Pandemic happening. Following the sending of them letters, he wrote several more then sent them to the other galaxies in his control—the subordinates of the galaxies that were located in the north, south, and just within the middle and western quadrant of the Universe were told to close the gates of their galaxies then issue out the same potion that he took fifteen years ago; the ones that weren't in them locations were given a warning of what was happening in the western sector, then were given a list of symptoms that went along with UA-1.

Following the sending of them letters, he looked at the phone. Before he knew he was doing it, he was going towards it then ripping its cord from where it was. He wasn't so much raging as he was upset over the near-sure demise of his sister, of his people suffering, and over his concern about the disease taking nearly everyone who existed in the known galaxies in the western quadrant. Before leaving his office, he got control of himself and promised to disconnect the other phones in the house—until UA-1 was beat, he wasn't to use them again.


	20. 45 Years Into The Plague

Like with most of her trip, the trek up the hill was tough. Despite this, and the pained stitch in her side, which made her want to stop and then take a break, she pushed on. Once on the hill, she saw that Ebaisha was waiting for her. As was natural of her, she dropped to her knees then started panting after her ascent was complete; her sister, instead of rushing towards her, or turning to look at her, kept her back to her. After nearly a minute passed, she mustered the strength to stand up then see what she was so fixated on.

"She's been here for a little over five minutes, so she's had a chance to recover." EblouissieVile thought while approaching her sister's side.

After shuffling along on legs that protested every step, she saw the thing that her sister was looking at. Like Ebaisha, she stopped then gawked at it. Never had she seen a property in such ruin before! If not for knowing where she was, she would of wondered if she was where she was suppose to be—the property before her didn't look like something her father would own, or live in.

Even though it was dark, the light from the moons was making it so she could see what was around her. Thanks to this, she could see that the grass needed to be mowed. If she had to make any guesses, it was close to being waist-high; the natural, poisonous grass looked to be neatly placed between the too-tall artificial terrain, and was close to being the same height. After seeing the state of the grass, she turned her attention to the fencing. Except for the section before the house, which her grandfather decided to not fence in, all of the property's fencing needed to be repaired—it was either down, discolored, or missing. Before taking in the house, she noticed that the yard foliage was rather disorderly, and that the driveway was badly cracked and grown over by weeds.

The structure that was at the start of the property was in equal disarray. If its bricks weren't crusted over with moss or ivy, it was disintegrating in places. She saw dirty or smudgy windows, or windows that were lacking their glass. She also saw a rather dilapidated car in the driveway. The roof was the most shocking thing on the house—it use to have dark gray shingles on it, which were now nearly white. After seeing the sight before her, she couldn't help but express herself with a sigh; the thought of whether her father, and baby brother, were still in the house came to her for a second before she noticed her sister was going towards it.

" 'The house will be boarded up from the inside right after its moved in so, if either of you want to come by and keep me and your brother company until this thing blows past, you need to do it now.' " she remembered her father saying forty-five years ago.

"Thus why the house, and its surrounding property, looks the way it does." EblouissieVile thought.

All while watching her sister shamble forward on legs that didn't look up to the part in holding her weight, she began to wonder how she could let herself be so stubborn. Normally, she wasn't so stubborn or difficult to get along with. The same went with being disobedient. After deciding to begin her descent, she guessed that most of her recent actions revolved around her sister—with Ebaisha being older than her, she looked up to her and let her be the leading party of them. This was very evident when they moved from where they were—when Ebaisha made the move to relocate to the Minan District, she didn't bat an eyelash or ask her why. She, who wanted to be closer to her, did the same and she also moved into a place that was directly across from her. The example following occurred again when Ebaisha got a job; instead of doing as she did in getting a license to drive, or a car, she decided to get a bus pass—it saved on taxes, and her workplace wasn't far enough to warrant such a contraption or laminated piece of paper.

Her habit reared its ugly head when the call came in about the house. After hearing that her sire wanted her to move to the place that her grandfather use to own, and that Ebaisha received a similar call, and refused to do so, she did the same. The same occurred when her father continued to get on her for going out to gamble, spend time with friends, and shop—she knew that Ebaisha was hearing the same thing from him, and was annoyed over it, and she imitated it. Thirty years ago, when his last call came in, she was half-willing to go by his advice in staying low, but, due to her sister, she didn't.

"You didn't want to abandon your friends either." EblouissieVile nearly said.

It wasn't very hard to figure her out. Like with her preference to follow in her sister's example, she liked to have a social life. She also thought of her friends as being very near and dear to her; the time in hearing and seeing them was regarded as precious too. When word was received on the house being boarded up, and that no one was to leave it until after the disease was beat, she felt that these things were being threatened. Along with gaining a minor panic, she began to wonder if her father didn't lose something upstairs—he had never moved into a home, boarded it up, then forced the ones who lived in it to stay inside until something blew over.

She was commonly called the social butterfly by her family, and the most likely of her father's children to get into trouble. After moving to the Minan District, then getting settled, she decided to not be so open in who she chose to be friends with; it took a number of years before she met Mairl and Seper, and then started being a friend of theirs. While all in her circle were older than her, Mairl and Seper had her by six hundred and five hundred and twelve years; the two weren't single when they met, but they were known to speak of marriage from time to time. After their friendship was done, they tied the knot then bought a place to call home. Like with most newly-weds, Mairl and Seper started trying to make some kids right away—with their being so tight, they were talking about making her the Godmother of the ones that they created. Instead of becoming the parents to one or two young ones, then doing as they said in making her the Godmother of them, they were prevented from doing so. After four thousand years of trying, they gave the dream up then decided to do the operation that'd remove the things that helped one in making a child. While she was blue over this, she had something to take the edge off.

"Which was Rahy and Krojoh."

No one really knew about the relationship that she had with the men. Considering how some in her family were against polygamy, she thought it was a good thing on it not being known. Up to moving to the Minan District, then living in it for them initial ten years, her romances were single male only. She had no intention to gain two lovers back then, and it continued to be that way right up to when she met her men. While it took a while for her and Rahy Ogoclorn to realize their affections for one another, the relationship with Krojoh Ukafacus was instantaneous; their love triangle began soon after she gave Krojoh her number, then started hanging out with him. Even though they loved each other, they were careful with their feelings for one another—whenever they got affectionate, they were away from people and, when the need for sex came around, they refused to do it in her apartment or the town where she lived in. With the men living in a different town, she took trips to see them. Neither of them wore condoms, or had anything done on them to make it so they couldn't produce children; to that day, she was still surprised over not catching for them.

Of her lovers, Rahy was the gentle one. When she made the trip to see him, then appeared before his motel room, he'd scoop her up then carry her inside. His gentle actions continued when they were in his bedroom, and after their clothes were off and he was in her. Not once had he hurt her, or caused her to feel dread over their relationship. Krojoh was the exact opposite of Rahy in being cold and rough; due to this, they nearly broke up twice. On both occasions, they made up then continued their relationship. If not for her liking how different Krojoh was with her, she wouldn't like how he treated her or remain with him.

The green pastures that she grew so fond of stopped being so green when Krojoh died. Even though two years had passed, she still felt poorly. With one of her men gone, she felt empty and half alone; if not for Ebaisha, Mairl, Seper, and Rahy, she would of caved a long time ago. Up to six months ago, she felt like she was getting over Krojoh's loss.

"Mairl died two weeks before her husband did." her stomach felt cold when she remembered how her friend was when she died, and how her husband reacted to her passing.

Like with Krojoh, Mairl's illness was sudden and unexpected. Whatever it was that claimed her, it was fast—she was no more admitted to the hospital before being pronounced dead. Seper was like any other husband who lost his partner in being inconsolerable; there was nothing that they could do to get him over her loss, or to prepare them for when he died. Like with her oldest uncle, her friend looked unidentifiable when he died—if not for the name on the guest sheet, she would of thought of him as someone else; he looked that different than what he was. Two days after the Vajjer's were beside one another again, she got the mental image of their embracing after reaching Paradise; while this image was consoling, it still brought tears to her eyes. While it was sweet in knowing that they were together again, it was also depressing to know that she'd never see them again.

Even though she was happy in knowing that they were together again, it took her months to get over losing them. Over the years that occurred after their and Krojoh's demise, Rahy came in to help her. When he saw that her grief was growing, and she was struggling to cope with it, he moved in; along with taking care of her, he put her on paid leave—almost immediately after their relationship began, he started giving her double what she earned. His doing this didn't stop when they fought, or when Krojoh died. She was nearly back to being herself when the last of her friends died—it was four weeks ago when Rahy died; she never wanted to see what happened again! Along with witnessing the man's groin burst, she saw him act out his pain by flinging his powers like they were nothing. It took her, who just got through having sex with him, six hours of simply huddling by her bureau before getting up the courage to leave her apartment then move in with Ebaisha. If not for the town of Dabver being nearly ghost-like, she would of called the cops after getting there; since it resembled one, she decided against placing a call then getting her lover's body removed from her living space.

"We haven't heard from him in years." she remembered her sister saying a week and a half ago, when she brought up the fact of their needing to go to their father for emotional, and mental, help.

"He's always helped us, and been there when he need him." she replied.

"With his not being able to be reached for the last thirty years, he's probably ashamed of us for not doing as he said for us to. He'll probably take one look at us before sending us away." her sister said.

"Doubt it. Daddy wouldn't do that to us. He loves us as much as he does Duru." she said. It was quiet between them for ten long minutes before she said something else. "Ebaisha, we need to do it. You know as well as me that we can't stay here anymore. We need to move in with daddy, and Duru."

While they were aware of something going on, they didn't think it was that serious. She and her sister brushed it off, as did their friends. Up to eleven years ago, they continued to do this; the first red flag was detected then, and they were among the first in their respective circles to notice it. Just about all of them went huh when the regular bill companies sent invoices to their mailing addresses. Each invoice said the same—that their monthly bill payments weren't expected until after the disease was over. When Mairl looked into this, she found that their bills weren't to just grow until payment was asked for—a request from Teluder Kakian came in, which said that everyone was to start up fresh when things mellowed out. Ebaisha, who seemed to have a crush on the man, and about broke her neck to get to a tv when word was heard about him, said that the request was nice; it took one look from her to know that she was curious about why the request was made, and how the man was faring. Five years ago, something else started being noticed—people stopped going to the recreational, home goods, and apparel stores. This put a strain on Qeebal's Clothes And Cosmetics, but not so much as to stop Rahy from spoiling her with a double paycheck. Even after the store started releasing the contracts of some of its employees, he continued to give her double what she earned. Another event started being noticed a year and four months ago—the food trucks were seen as not making their regular rounds. She and Ebaisha noticed that they came in once every month, and they weren't always full and the ones who were in them weren't friendly or even normal in unloading them—on some instances, they dumped what was in the truck then sped off and, on others, they refused to have anyone come near them or their truck after they reached their destination.

She and Ebaisha were doing well until two weeks ago. Even after receiving the notice on their workplace closing down, they didn't go out to stock-up on provisions that'd get them by for a while. With the food trucks not coming in like normal, and their having nothing for pantry purchases, the cabinets in Ebaisha's apartment grew to being quite sparse. With their living status being the way it was, and Ebaisha also being caught in the grieving process after all in her circle passed away, she made the decision to speak about their needing to go to their father and then move in with him and their little brother. It took a while, but she convinced her often-times tough and overly stubborn sister to take the trek with her. Unfortunately, neither of them thought about Ebaisha's car being low on gas, or about the Lajon District being a distance from them; when the car died on them two hours in on the trip, they got out then started walking the rest of the way.

Their feet were sore, and they were fraught with nose bleeds, easily bruised and blistering skin, and a persistent cough all the way here. Right when they reached the hill that was before the house that they wanted to go to, Ebaisha started complaining of her neck and armpit hurting her—she was no doctor by any means, but she knew the bumps weren't good. While on the trip, she cursed Teluder Kakian for giving the order for everyone to consume Jaboa and herself for taking it. If not for that order, and her stupid self for obeying it, she would of teleported herself, and her sister, to the house. Instead of their spending a week in traversing country that they didn't know, and being chased by groups of people who were carrying all matter of religious artifacts, and encountering people who looked sick, or in the grip of death, they would of made the trip in no time if they had their ability to teleport.

"We're here now, so everything can be put behind us." EblouissieVile said while following her sister to the house.

While Eblouissie did her best to keep up, she was thinking about how the mind and body worked. She remembered her schooling days, and the teachers who taught her classes, well. The woman who taught one of her physical education classes said that the mind and body worked best when they were healthy and injury free; when they weren't, this teacher said, a tax was applied to them, which made their possessor experience trouble in doing things. If not for her feeling like crap, she wouldn't be thinking this—one morning, about two and a half weeks ago, she woke to find herself not being her usual, peppy self. Due to how she felt, she came to wish that she could push it off on the first person she saw; even though her sister lived with her, and followed her to where they were, she kept her status to herself—Eblouissie had her own demons to deal with, and didn't need another to be added to them.

"While most of what I'm feeling comes from what I've endured over the years, the rest comes from the trip, and me not bringing a coat." EbaishaVile thought while exiting the hill, then continuing to the house.

Like her sister, she valued her friends and the time that she could see and hear from them. She wasn't as social as Eblouissie, but she still preferred to be involved with people than to be holed up inside or have just one or two people to associate with. While she and Eblouissie had several things in common with one another, the one on the gender ratios of their friends wasn't—her sister seemed to like having an equal gender among the ones that she hung around with, while she preferred for the ones in her circle to be in her own. Up to five years ago, she had six friends; along with being female, they were healthy and thriving up to their passing. While she hated to pin the sentence on them, she did so because it seemed to of happened—once one of her friends died, a sort of domino effect happened where the rest followed.

The first to go was Zoji. She was usually the more steadfast of her friends in clocking in on time for work, and getting things done before they came around or before their deadlines were noticed. When Zoji didn't show up for work on the thirteenth, fourteenth, or fifteenth, Vendra grew concerned for her; with her concern being what it was, she went to check on her. Vendra about fainted when she found Zoji in her small motel room; according to what she was told, their friend was nearly unidentifiable when she was found. The police were like Vendra when they went to see to the call, then saw what she did—from what she was told, her friend was covered in bruises, scratch marks, and had two protuberances on her neck that, upon examination, looked to of burst at the same time. Following Zoji's decease, Vendra died—even though it was a month later when she died, she still linked the domino effect on her. Vendra looked as Zoji did when she was found; her rich aunt and uncle, who were the only ones alive in her family, saw to a swift cremation of her remains before any type of police investigation could happen. Two years after Vendra's passing occurred, Kapel died. This friend of hers, who was a lesbian, but had a heart of gold, was found leaning out of her bedroom window; there was a dark area on the carpet between her legs, which came from the bump that was on her groin bursting and then bleeding out. Nine months later, word was received on Geevatie being sick. She was said to be in the hospital, and had her parents at her side; she was also said to make a swift recovery from what was described as a bad case of the flu. Two days later, she died; the doctor who looked after her followed her after having a heart attack—when he entered her room, he found that she was drenched in blood, tearing her hair from her head, and showering the walls with her liquefied powers. Kuuqi died a year and four months later. Unlike the others, she was healthy up to her passing—oh, she had a small, and newly ruptured, bump on her armpit, but it wasn't anything to become worried about.

The last of her friends died four months ago. Bine was like Kuuqi in being healthy up to her death. She was doing her usual run down the street when she started showing some alarming signs—according to one of her neighbors, she stopped, started coughing blood, then collapsed to the ground. She was just starting to scream when the neighbors threw the windows of their homes up; the same person that she spoke to said that the asphalt around Bine grew dark with blood, which was swiftly discovered to be coming from the blister-like marks on her back and buttocks. Like with Vendra, Bine's parents had her cremated before an investigation could be done.

"And then there's the hysteria regarding Mr. Kakian." EbaishaVile thought.

While he wasn't in her circle, she saw him as important enough to be concerned over. Her affections for the galaxy's ruler were always there, but they didn't grow into what they were now until after she reached her late teenage years. While her family, and friends, were gentle with her when they teased her about how she felt for the man, she wasn't—she sometimes beat herself up about it, which only made it worse. This habit of hers really took off when her friends died, and she began to wonder if Teluder wasn't dead too—no word from him was heard for eleven years, which was a concern to her. Even though she didn't know the man, she felt like she had seen him before; the same went on her feeling that they had a connection. When she started to wonder if he was dead, she grew to being hysterical, then took to her bedroom for a spell before coming out then resuming her life.

Her affections caused a little craziness to occur in her. Sometimes, when she made love to the man that she met at the bar, or simply met while she was shopping or working, she envisioned it was Teluder that she was fucking. She had a rich fondness for cats, and Teluder looked like one, and she also liked tails, and it just so happened that he had one; she sometimes grew to being quite hot when she imagined him using his tail to corral her with, or when he got kinky with it by sticking it in her or using it to get her excited. When the man was seen with Uestea Sapliles, then got married to her, she grew to being quite angry with him; he deserved happiness, and the chance to be with someone, but she did have a wish that he'd meet, grow enamored, and then possibly marry and have some children with her. She felt betrayed by his marriage to Uestea, then she felt a greater betrayal when Uestea had his first child. While she didn't put curses on people, she thought about doing so on more than one occasion after the reports came in on her dating the one who she was so mad for, and then marrying and having his children. When the two's children died, the idea of his divorcing Uestea, then having a "chance" encounter with her before growing so fanciful over her that he couldn't risk a moment of his life without her in it, came to her. It was a horrible idea, and one that she went to strides to keep hidden, but it was still thought of and, sometimes, spoken of when she was alone in her kitchen or the back storage of her workplace.

"Maybe you'll meet and have a sort of romance with one of his sons one day." she thought when her secret idea came to her.

She wasn't able to concentrate on her concern for Teluder Kakian, or be jealous of Uestea Sapliles, after Bine died. The worry of how she was to keep her stomach full was what claimed her attention. With the grocery stores being restocked only once every month, and everyone flocking to them in a frenzy after the trucks were seen as being at them, and her finances not being as great as they use to be, she wasn't able to keep her apartment stocked with what she liked to eat. When Eblouissie moved in with her, things got to be even more difficult. Eblouissie helped with what she could, and seemed to have better luck in keeping her finances secure, but they still struggled. She sometimes grew jealous of her younger sister's beauty, prowess with money, and luck when she went to gamble. Her sister only needed to walk by a slot machine for it to belch out the coins that could be cashed for real money, and she had a lot of men checking her out; she knew that Rahy Ogoclorn liked her, but she didn't know about his giving her a double paycheck, or that he "shared" her with Krojoh Ukafacus—and it was a good thing on both because, if she knew of her getting a double paycheck, she'd be infuriated and, if she knew of her screwing two men, she'd distance herself from her. She was sometimes jealous of her sister, and loved her like she should, and looked after her like the Big Sister that she was, but she didn't go for favoritism or that slut routine where one woman slept with or had feelings for more than one man. When she moved to the Minan District, she didn't base her new living area on where her sister was; the same went on using her to get men. She loathed the idea of being so far from her, and not knowing when she could see her, and she also didn't like the idea of the last man coming close to raping her.

While the father was suppose to do most of the protecting of his daughters, she believed that the older sister should carry the rest. She was very aware of the differences that set her apart from her sister—she wasn't as brightly, or uniquely, colored; she was two inches taller, and around eight pounds heavier; she wasn't as lucky; and she was sturdier. With this being known to her, she took to the helm in protecting Eblouissie when the need either needed or didn't need to be done.

When she started this trek from the Minan District to the one where her father and baby brother were in, she was mostly concerned for her sister. While she felt like crap, and was plagued by her aches and pains, her sister didn't look well. Eblouissie's unique skin coloration was a degree lighter than usual and, while she was exhibiting the normal walk for one who was tired, her back and groin looked to be giving her grief—all while walking over here, she was slumped over and acting like her crotch hurt her. Now that they were here, and coming close to the door of the abode before them, they could rest, recuperate, and possibly even relax until someone thought of something that they could do so they could move out and get stable again.

"Daddy will probably try to stop us from leaving, but we'll go and he'll be proud of us for wanting to be independent." EbaishaVile thought before stretching her hand forward to knock on the door of the house before her.

While his daughters took in the ruined property, thought their thoughts, and made their way to the house, he was putting Duru to bed. Except for the moment where he woke up in a state of hysteria, then had an issue in keeping his son's attention during his lesson on the powers that he hoped he had, today was pretty good. The same seemed to be happening for the evening. Duru's vocabulary, though still basic, now consisted of fifteen words, but he still used and seemed to prefer 'Pubba' to everything else that came from his mouth. If not for his decision to start his son's education forty-five years ago, Duru might not be using the color and shape words—he might still just be using 'Pubba', and be a little behind the other kids of his age. The standard age for one in his family to start talking was two hundred and four, while the issue on using more than a few words was two hundred and forty; his son, who was ten years over that, was right on schedule for both.

After disconnecting the landlines to the house, he decided to block each number that was in his cellular's directory. With his phone having so many numbers programmed into it, it took a while for him to do this. Once it was done, he felt nervous, yet as light as a feather. He figured that the burden of worry was still there, but the chore of lightening it so he could concentrate more on himself and his son was the cause of his feeling them things. Immediately after shrugging the dual feelings off, he resumed life as he was now living it. For the last thirty years, everything was fine in his world. He taught his son, looked after him, and did what he could to retain his feelings of depression and anxiety over being cooped up; he also grew close to most of his staff.

The ones who worked for him were doing well in regards to being trapped in the house for forty-five years. Naturally, with their being in the house for that long, they had learned a lot about one another. The butlers and he were close enough to be called friends now, while three of the maids partaked in flirtatious actions with him. Two of the butlers weren't straight; it was obvious at year nine of their tenure in the house that they had feelings for one another and, at year fifteen, were porking. The other butler seemed to be very interested in this maid who was playing the Hard To Get game. None of them thought he'd get far with her—by all appearances, she acted like one who wasn't interested in either gender. The other maids were either sticking to being single until the disease was beat or indulging in their frustrations with the butler who was straight. If not for his having a young boy in the house, and needing to concentrate most of his energy on him, he would of engaged them in sex.

On the times where his son was down for a nap, or in Time Out, he tracked some of the staff down then engaged in conversation with them. Sometimes, they just spoke. On others, they played card or board games; if the need for dirty talking was seen in their circle, they'd do that and the same went if any of them needed sexual stimulation. They also helped one another in getting over their anxiety over being stuck in the house for so long—he was said to be on the top of the list for the anxious ones, while two of the maids were a close second and third.

"I'd hate to see your bank account when its finally given its cure, Shaam." one of the maids said a few years ago, when they were just sitting around and talking to one another.

He hated to see it too. With the way things were going, he might just be shelling out more than $50,000 per person that worked for him when the disease was finally beaten. According to the new anchors that ran the news, the disease had spread to the middle part of the Universe's middle sector; it was speculated that it would reach the eastern sector in fifty to seventy-five years. People were frustrated over the lengthy delay in getting the cure out, and were forming more than the usual mobs that were known to form when things like this came up, and supplies in certain locales was growing sparse due to no one wanting to risk the chance of getting what was going around to deliver what was needed. He was more than a little glad to of done the spell to make the food in the pantry last for however long he wanted it to, and for the other spell in making sure none of it spoiled, now—he didn't want to be going out in the mess that was happening outside of his house's walls, and he definitely didn't want to leave his vulnerable son behind so he could get what they needed or get the disease and then bring it back so it could also inflict him.

"Pubba seepy too?" his son asked after being put in his bed.

"Sure am, Lad." ShaamVile replied. He tucked his son in, gave him a kiss, then went to turn the light off. "Sleep tight, Duru. We have tomorrow to look forward to."

"Otey."

While his son hadn't grown anymore, he had stopped using diapers. The phase where Duru was scared of the toilet, then curious of it, then started using the one that was designated for him, started about twelve years ago. When he saw him using the training toilet in the one bathroom downstairs, he took out the pack of disposable underwear then started the transition in having him wear them; he remembered that, when he bought the ones that he purchased forty-five years ago, he wasn't sure of them. To him, they looked like regular diapers; according to the Wench who came to his assistance, they weren't and were good to use when one was being toilet trained. His son had accepted them right away, and was close to being a pro when it came to his needing to take them off when he needed to use the bathroom—the act of his taking his diaper off, then flinging it, and its contents, around was long past; while he sometimes missed this odd action of a young toddler's, he reminded himself of how relieved he was in not having to worry about cleaning what went splat on the floor and walls.

His son had slowed up in wanting to sleep only when he wanted to, and he was no longer throwing his food around or eating just half of it. Duru was now on the way to becoming a well-behaved young Lad who knew manners; he was proud of himself for teaching him to end the ordeal with the food playing, and was also proud to say that he was now able to get in an all-nighter.

"Now to spend a few hours on my own, and unwind a little from today, before hitting the sack and then getting some sleep." ShaamVile thought after turning the light in his son's room off, then leaving the door ajar before going towards the stairs.

He stopped to check in on the report that was airing in room 21 before going to the living room. While it wasn't being said, he had a feeling that the scientists were becoming victims to the disease. Like with the news not being able to keep anchors on-board their stations, they were dying too quickly for a cure to be made. About seven years ago, during a moment where his son was preoccupied, and the staff were too busy to be approached for conversation, he sat then thought about the last disease that was rampant in the Universe.

While Spli claimed around half of the Universe's people, and caused many changes to occur in medicine and technology, it wasn't as virulent as UA-1 and didn't seem as strong or powerful either. He remembered riding it out with Zaal, and driving his brother insane with the same anxiety that he was exhibiting now, when it was around. The disease, he remembered, claimed around an eighth to maybe a quarter of each family before moving on; while people were fearful of it for the first seven years of its existence, they turned to moving around more freely after ten years came around.

Right off the top of his head, he knew that eight of the family's members died when Spli was going around. Almost all of who died were children of his great-grandfather, while the rest were either his in-laws or grandchildren. WexVile Rulvot Surfeit's oldest son went first; he wasn't aware of the circumstances of his passing, but he knew that he died before anyone else did. Following NuutaliiVile Vrapegg Surfeit's passing, his younger brother died; after WolwerdVile Relstak Surfeit died, their younger sister, SweeikVile Oosoof Surfeit, died. Again, he didn't know the circumstances of their deaths, or really wanted to know—with what was going around, he imagined their demise as being less severe to what was happening now. His grandfather, and his wife, were discovered as deceased, then had their final wishes carried out, after Sweeik died, then the older of his great-grandfather's daughters through his third marriage died. After XhisliVile Tutze Surfeit died, Eunxyll Harvar, and his daughter, Aldiria, died. After Aldiria died, no one else in the family grew to being sick, or were claimed by what was going around; it was like Spli had an agenda to weed out a small percent of each family before meeting the thing that prevented it from claiming anymore lives. When the vaccine was made, all of the survivors in his family got it—or, unbeknown to him, a double of it, since his father had a moment of getting back in line after receiving his shot and no one came up to tell him to move on so the next could come up to get what was being distributed.

It took twenty years for Spli to be beaten, while UA-1 had surpassed this. The current disease was stronger than the last; he didn't need to be told this because he had seen its effects, and lived to see it still going on. If he had to make any guesses, it might be eighty to a hundred years before UA-1 was given its cure and then finally named and put in the history books—Spli was given its name by the scientist who discovered its properties; the current disease might follow this, he thought.

"Wonder who it'll be that'll be crowned the savior of the survivors to today's ill—" ShaamVile started to think.

The knock on the door was loud enough to make him stop, turn around, then become tense. Not once since he and his son took to living in the house had they been visited or bothered by anyone. He had worried about someone coming up, then demanding to be let in because they didn't want to be outside anymore, or because they were sick and needed help, for years now; a similar worry revolved around that same someone trying to break into the house after learning that he wasn't to let them in or help them. He was prepared for when something like that happened, but he was holding onto the hope that he'd not have to do it or go through the stress that it'd cause. After hearing the door being knocked on, he went to the house's weapons room; the red rifle, that he'd come to think of as the twin version of the Czechoslovak rifle vz. 24 some years down the road, was lifted from its mount then loaded with what it used. Once the bolt-action rifle was loaded, and the safety was released, he went back to the house's front then got ready—if he had to use the gun to protect him and his son, he would. Before cocking the gun, he hoped that the one on the door's other end wasn't bold, or stupid enough to warrant being shot at.

With himself ready should anything happen, he addressed the one on the door's other side.

"Whoever you are, go away. I've got a good gun here and I'm not afraid to use it." ShaamVile said loud enough for the one on the door's other side to hear.

"Daddy..." the voice was faint, but he thought he detected some familiarity with it.

"You hear me? Go away, and don't come back."

"Daddy, it's me, and Eblouissie. Please, let us in."

The world around him stopped moving. Did he hear what he thought he did? That his daughters were on the door's other side, and wanted in. His whole body went numb as he weighed the possibilities of it being them in his head. Ever since removing the ability to use the phones in the house, he had wondered about his daughters. Were they being safe; keeping themselves fed, well hydrated, and warm; looking after one another; and being smart? Was their standing on the disease still the same, or different? Were they still alive, or dead like the others who contracted the disease? After hearing the faint voice that he thought was his oldest daughter's, he lowered his weapon then stepped towards the door. It was still boarded up, but he could remove the boards in a heartbeat if he had to. After approaching the door, then placing his ear to it, he listened; from what he was hearing, there were two on his doorstep and it did sound like they were his daughters.

"Is he home?" the one who identified as his youngest daughter asked.

"Yes. I heard him." the older of the two women replied.

"Knock harder, and get him to open the door. It's cold out here."

"Cold out here and my legs hurt."

"You're bleeding again." his heart started pounding when he heard this. Unless Ebaisha was on the rag, and wasn't wearing something to catch the blood, she was bleeding from one of her other orifices.

"Yeah, so are you."

The long and drawn out, wet cough was what caused him to feel anger and despair. Once he heard the cough, then put two-and-two together on where the blood was coming from, he stepped back then held the gun up. While a man's job was to love his offspring, he was also suppose to protect them; he wasn't able to do this with his often-times stubborn daughters and, sadly, they were receiving the fruits of their actions in being sick. He didn't need to be told that they had UA-1—with their being so free thirty years ago, and thinking that it was nothing, they opened themselves up to it and, sadly, had it. While he felt like a disappointment in the father department over not being able to convince them to stay indoors, he told himself that they chose their path and, ultimately, the dance with death.

Tears welled up as he told them to back away from the door, then turn around and leave the premises. Even though he felt compelled to open the door, let them in, then care for them until they died of the disease, then let it take him afterwards, he reminded himself of the Lad upstairs. If not for Duru, he would of become a victim to the disease. If not for his toddler, who looked up to him for everything, and also depended on him for protection, he would of removed the door's boards then ushered his daughters in. All while holding the gun at the door, and keeping his finger at its trigger, he reminded himself that he would always be his daughters' father and would always love them—this fact would be contradicted by his son, who wasn't in bed or asleep, but was looking down from the banister of the stairs and seeing all of what happened in the foyer, and would, one day, say that he denounced his daughters to the authors of the family's chronicle books when they visited him for information on how he was during the yet-named disease that was claiming lives.

"Daddy?" EbaishaVile Etalett Surfeit, who'd die no more than twelve hours after being sent away from his abode, asked. She knocked on the door a little harder, then called out to him again, before going to pound on it.

"You two heard me now. I said get. Go on; leave the premises." ShaamVile said to his daughters as the tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Daddy, let us in. It's cold out here, and we're not feeling well." EblouissieVile Axodaa Surfeit, who'd die two days after her sister did, pled.

"I mean it now. Go on; I'm not afraid to use this on neither of you."

"Is he serious?" EbaishaVile asked after the click of a gun was heard.

"What's going on?" EblouissieVile asked her sister.

"Sounds like he has a gun to the door."

"No! He wouldn't—"

"He _will_ if you two don't move on." ShaamVile said loud enough for everyone in the house to hear.

His hands shook as he followed the two to the windows that were on the door's either side. His daughters knocked on them, then caused one to crack, before returning to the door. The same request for him to let them in was made, as was the new one of his ceasing his craziness and put the gun down—when the window was cracked, he fired one round at the wall; his daughters stopped what they were doing for two minutes before resuming the act of trying to get him to let them in. In all, it took ten agonizing minutes for the door knocking, pounding, and window assaults to stop. When they did, he heard heavy coughing, then one saying that they shouldn't of come to where they were, then the other saying that she couldn't believe what was happening; he was mutual on this. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought of turning his little girls away, or running them off with a gun. His bout of hysteria that morning seemed to have purpose to it now, he thought. Somehow, he knew that something was going to happen; even though he didn't know what it was, he still reacted to it. When his daughters left, his face was slick with tears, his throat was sticky, and he felt drained. His weapon was used a total of five times, but none of the bullets struck his daughters—he just used it to scare them off, he told himself now and in the years to come, where he was trying his best to recover from the disease's impacts.

When his daughters left, and he heard no further sound of home-based assaults on the door or windows, he slumped to his knees then started crying. His son, who saw all of what he just did, and was effected by it, but in a different way to his, went to his room then jumped into bed; the Lad, he'd discover, would be a little more than scared of the foyer, and him, for the next week and a half before cooling down. His daughters, one bore to him by his only wife, and the other by his first fiancé, went a mile down the road before fatigue struck them. When the disease was beat, and people started putting the pieces together of their lives, their remains would be found in a little shed; he'd do the honor of picking the coffins, putting them in them, then burying them once they were found, and he'd also remember the whole affair of what transpired on the night of April 30, 3900,221,109,002.

"Forgive m-me. Please, f-f-forgive me, you two. I h-h-had to! I had to do it—for your brother... for my son, and for me, who he needs!" ShaamVile managed to choke out. He was on his knees, and bawling his eyes out, for all of twenty minutes before getting up, retrieving his weapon, then going to where it was found it. While on the way to the room, he said, "Fucking disease needs to go away, for it's causing more than heartbreak to happen!"


	21. 125 Years Into The Plague

"Unless you find yourself in the predicament where it has to happen, you never go down to where the staff live." ShaamVile remembered his father telling him one time when he was a teenager.

If not for the circumstance that befell him five days ago, he wouldn't be remembering what he was. The same went with his standing where he was, or thinking about doing. Before making a premature name for himself, then coming home to get the crap beat out of him, he was taken to the side by his father. The man gave him some very important lessons before he turned one thousand, eight hundred, and thirty years old; even though some of them were enough to bore the socks off his feet, the rest kept his attention.

The one on his watching the man pay the bills was extremely boring. He found himself nodding off on two occasions before finally falling asleep, which won him the distinct pleasure of being snapped at. The lesson on not slouching around while others slaved around you was also boring, but he managed to stay awake during it. If not for the next two lessons, he would of done his best to avoid the man who sired him—the teachings on how to repair certain structures in and around a home were so enjoyable that he had no trouble in staying awake or keeping himself focused; the same went with the following ones, which centered around vehicles. While his father wasn't very intelligent in the ways of repairing a car, he did teach him how to change the oil and tires, add in new antifreeze, and know when something's amiss with the engine.

When the subject of the house's lower level came up, his father was serious in getting and keeping his attention. According to the man, just about all of the conquerors in their family went on to buy homes that were big enough to warrant a staff. While some decided to forgo the practice of giving their staff a home, others decided to be nice in doing so; the home-owner could either let his, or her, staff pay their own bills or pay them for them. The staff's quarters weren't really considered as belonging to the one who owned the house and, nine times out of ten, they weren't included in what the house had in it.

"I follow in example of him and most of our ancestors—while the house has a total of fifty rooms in it, I only consider it as having thirty." ShaamVile thought.

Unless something emergent happened, the one who employed a staff was to stay away from where they lived. Before concluding the lesson on the subject of the staff's quarters, his father reminded him of some of the instances where he went down to where his employees lived. The man, he knew, had only to deal with a handful of emergencies that took place in his generously given employee quarters—one regarded the spouse of one of his maids, who turned and then beat his wife half to death when she came home late; another involved a butler who skewered his hand while cutting an Avocado; the one on the pregnant maid, who didn't know she was with child, but found out after she went into labor, was one that he remembered well, as was the one where one of his father's new recruits took after some of his co-workers with a knife.

"It's only when one of these events, or something worse, happen that you're to go down to where the staff live." he remembered his father saying before deciding to close the matter.

"Is something like one of them, or worse, happening now?" ShaamVile asked while facing the door that gave access to the employee quarters.

Like the one who originally owned the house, he had only to deal with a handful of employee quarters based emergencies. Of the things that he saw to deal with, one stuck out well—it involved a butler and his too-fat wife. The butler was one who liked to use glue on everything, and he just so happened to of used a tube of the stuff on the night that he decided to screw his spouse. Instead of putting the glue somewhere other than his night table, he put it on his table after using it then put a thing of lubricant beside it. Due to his mistake in taking the glue up instead of the lubricant, he came to be glued inside his wife—it took him thirty minutes to get the pair up to the house, then to the awaiting ambulance. Much like the butler's co-workers, he had a fight on his hands to keep the chuckles in.

If not for the members of his staff being a no-show for the last five days, he wouldn't be before the door that stood before their quarters. He had grown to know the habits of the ones who worked for him. They were a consistent bunch, and most of them were friendly and talkative. The two, non-straight butlers had long since stopped being intimate, while three of the maids were found to be bi and then turned to being a little loose with one another. The maids who were straight, and didn't desire to be single right up to when the disease was beat, were still being flirtatious with him and the butler who was straight. The butler who was interested in the maid who was being hard to get had stopped trying to gain her attention at year fifty of their tenure in the house. At year seventy-three, he caved to his urge in having sex with one of the Wench's who worked for him—with her rubbing him all over, then bringing her skirt up, he just couldn't help himself in getting her to follow him up to the room where they did the deed. For the last fifty-two years, he had slept with two of the other women in his staff; it was going on sixteen months since he partaked in any sex, but he felt fine and, furthermore, healthy.

Of the ones in his staff, he was only having trouble with three of them. One of the maids was a little on the religious side. She refused to partake in sex, or flirtatious activities, and she didn't like the issue of either of them being spoken near her. She was caught smack talking him on two occasions over the years; if not for what was going on, he would of fired her on the spot for doing so. Instead of firing her, he slapped her then told her to watch herself. Another of the maids was plain uninterested in either gender, and seemed to be a right quiet individual who preferred to stay to herself. The other maid was an odd creature—she use to be right friendly, and one of the more readibly flirty ones; as of the last thirty-seven years, she stopped doing this. While he was curious over why, he was keeping his distance and letting her odd behavior continue.

It was he who looked after the house, his son, and himself for the last five days. A very daunting task, considering the fact that his son was now three hundred and thirty years old and very sturdy on his legs. Duru was close to being completely toilet trained, and was now using full sentences instead of just saying a few discernible words. His education on time and numbers was now happening, so he was probably to know what a second, minute, hour, and one, two, and three were soon. He was happy to know that his son had grown by four inches over the last forty years, and was around eight pounds heavier than he use to be. Following the event where his daughters were seen from the house, he found himself as dealing with a very nervous boy for a while before everything cleared up—the idea of his son slipping himself from his bed, then stealing to the banister of the stairs to see what all the ruckus was about, then racing up to his room and getting back in bed, was very far from his mind both then and now. The event of running his daughters off still haunted him; he had nightmares of it, and on their stumbling to some slant-roofed shed, then hunkering down in it until they succumbed to their dastardly ailment, often. If not for the pills that gave him the ability to sleep for a full night, and Duru's habit of sleeping only when he wanted to being over, he would of been driven crazy by what he dreamed.

"Then there's the dream of the one who has the two sets of horns on his head—been having it for three nights now... It doesn't seem to want to cease, or stop continuing from where it left off." ShaamVile thought before going to open the door before him.

He didn't know the source of the dreams, or who the man was that was in them. All he knew was that he wished they'd stop. The dreams started off with him being in his bedroom. He was asleep, then was aroused by the arm of the man who was in them. The man would speak to him, tell him to get dressed, then have him follow him to a dark corridor. Duru was never spoken of during these dreams, but he thought the man knew him and, furthermore, was concerned for both of them. The man was around six foot, one and a quarter inches tall; he wasn't able to detect the color of his skin, but he knew that he had nothing in the pits of his eyes and two sets of horns on his head. Two of these horns curled all the way around, while the others just swept to the side. He never stopped himself from following the man to where a door was, or hear his cautioning words on his needing to cover it up before the darkness behind it got out.

He was continuously telling himself that his dreams were nothing more than that. His hysteria over sending his daughters away, coupled by his staff not being around to be spoken to or engaged with, had caused him to have them. If not for his son showing some skills in his Elemental powers, which he started to exhibit about sixty-one years ago, and his being relieved over his inheriting them, he'd cave to his stress over them and to what the disease was bringing on.

"Hello?" he said after opening the door, then flipping the switch to the stairs' light fixtures.

It was cold in this part of the house, which was odd because the rest of the house was warm. With it being the middle part of July, it was cold outside. The house was kept at a consistent seventy-seven degrees at this time of year yet, in the employee quarters, it felt fifteen to twenty degrees colder than that. After detecting the chill in the quarters, he closed the door then descended the stairs. All while going down to where the employee apartments were, he thought about how well his son's system was faring—not once since moving into the house had he uttered a cough, sneeze, or sniffle; while he came down with a few low-grade fevers, and a headache or two, he was as healthy as could be. While he came down with more cases of getting headaches, he hadn't experienced anything that the change in weather brought on or any type of fevers—and was he glad for this; if he had, he would of been bogged down further with the stress of raising his young son. Like with performing the spell on the provisions to make them last for however long the disease was rampant, he performed a spell on the medical supplies so they'd hold up to the years that they were needed.

With his growing like he was, Duru's clothes were getting a little small. A few years ago, one of the maids was kind enough to make him three shirts, two pairs of pants, and some underwear—like with his now sleeping in a bed, Duru wasn't wearing or using his disposable underwear anymore. He was happy to receive the maid's help, and to also know that one of the butlers use to be a cordwainer. The butler who use to have an interest in one of his co-workers whipped up two new pairs of shoes for his son, who was wearing them well; except for his outgrowing his old pairs of slacks, and having to wear a normal pair of knee-long socks, his son was good to go for a while. He was glad to see him wearing clothing that fit his body—he didn't want him to wear shirts that came to barely his wrists, or pants that barely went down his upper legs, or shoes that were too tight on him. Whenever one of his shirts, coats, pants, or underwear grew to being a bit overused, he tracked the maid or butler down then asked for them to fix them; they were always willing to help and he was happy to know that they were so inclined to keep his outfits neat and tidy.

Seven days ago, he gave the butler who use to be a cordwainer a pair of his shoes that needed to be buffed up and then repaired on the soles. The man said he'd have them to him in two days time; he disappeared on the day of his given timeline, and when he and the rest of his co-workers seemingly disappeared from thin air.

"Hello? Anyone down here?"

He stopped about midway down the stairs. The air... it either grew to being a bit murky or was foretelling something that he either needed to know but didn't or needed to run from. He stood on the stairs, with one hand on the wall and the other close to being in the pocket that had a knife in it, for the longest of time before continuing down them. All while descending the rest of the stairs, he was clean of thoughts. The only thing that he let himself be concerned over was the missing staff; if he had known about what he was about to walk in on, he would of stopped right then and there and then raced up to where he came. Since he wasn't one who could detect things before they happened, or knew that they were happening so to stay clear of them, he walked on.

The second his final step occurred, he stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth dropped for a micro-second, before being closed then covered with the kerchief that was in his pocket.

What he saw was reminiscent to what he saw in his brother's house. The hallway that the apartments were on was a mess. Blood, and a viscus-like fluid, galore; the only thing that wasn't present in his brother's house was the scratch marks. If he had to make any guesses, someone acted out their pain by scratching the walls, and floor, to pieces. There were two maids about five steps away from the final step of the stairs; with their nails being worn down to nearly to quick, he put the scratches on them. These two maids were bi, and were known to be more than a little chummy with one another; both were pocked with open protuberances on their necks, but only one was covered in blisters and bruises. After seeing the two women, he carefully walked past them then looked into the rooms that were on the hallway.

The first was closed. When he opened it, then went in, he found it deserted. The next three were the same way, while the fourth was a disaster area. Someone was obviously in the process of making a meal, then had an episode where they cut themselves; he followed the trail of blood to the bathroom, where he found the maid all slumped over the sink. She was covered in rashes, and was emitting a horrible odor, which only came from the protuberance that ruptured on her inner thigh. After seeing this Wench, he left the apartment then closed its door.

The next room was empty, as were the next ten, while the twelfth contained a surprise. The two, non-straight butlers seemed to of made the decision to partake in another session of bed play—he found them in the bedroom; they were naked, and one was on top of the other, but both were dead. The bigger of the men was all scratched and torn up, while the smaller one was just a bruised up mess. Ironically, the bigger man was on the bottom—he guessed that the smaller one had a merry old time in causing the damage to him before succumbing to what he had. While they had protuberances on them, they weren't burst. He left the apartment quickly, then went down the hall just as quickly.

Room 21 had three of his staff in it. It was obvious that they grew scared after the two in the hallway started their assault on the walls, then took refuge in the room that they were in. One of the women was still alive, but barely, while the others were cold and dead—if he had to make any guesses, they were two days deceased. The still-living maid was the religious one. When she saw him, she held her hands out then asked for him to come retrieve her—due to her face being all swelled up, her arms being covered in rashes, and the boil on her jaw, he didn't. He just looked at her, mouthed that he was sorry, then left the room.

The third and final butler was found five minutes later. He was sitting in his living room; it looked like he took to sleeping in the room, because the bedroom's bed was made up all nice and neat and didn't look or feel to of had an occupant in it. Even though he found him in the lounge chair, he knew he wasn't alive—his skin had long since lost its color; his eyes were jutting out from their sockets; and his throat was three times its size. One look told him that the man died from suffocation, which only came from the underskin boils that had yet to grow and then protrude from the flesh. With the chair's arms being all scratched up, and their stuffing and foam being all around it, he also knew that he attacked it in his throws to breathe. After seeing the man, he turned then fled his living area.

He grew to being infuriated after coming across the room that was two down from the one that he just left. It was clean and organized, but was obviously being used as a sort of storage and trading area by the ones who he employed. He found cigarettes, alcohol, clothing articles, food and medical supplies, and all matter of material one used when repairing clothes or other fabric pieces. After finding this room, he put two-and-two together on how his staff were able to repair his clothes, and make Duru new ones—instead of using fabric from the other rooms to repair or make new ones with, they were leaving the house, buying or finding the material that they needed, then coming back and using it. He left this room in a fury, then went into the next four. When he entered the fifth, he started to wonder how his staff were able to leave the house without his knowing it.

"Except for the front and back doors, there's no other way out of here. Both doors are blocked by wood. And so are the windows. No one could of gotten out without prying them boards back—they would of made a lot of noise, which would of attracted attention."

The five rooms, that he checked over, were empty of occupants. When he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped when he heard the sounds of someone talking, then another person responding. He listened to these voices, which were joined by three others, for two minutes before tracking them down; before entering the room where they were coming from, he noticed something in the ceiling. Seeing as he had nothing better to do, he investigated the area in the ceiling that didn't look right.

By way of reaching his hand up, then pressing it to the section that didn't look solid, he discovered that someone was naughty with the power tools. Someone, somehow, managed to saw a twenty-five by thirty inch square in the ceiling; when he inspected this just-made discovery, he found that it opened in on a tunnel. After shrinking to the size of a mouse, the traversing this tunnel, he found that it took him to a vent, which wasn't fast to the house—it was quite obvious that one of the maids, or the smaller of the butlers, squirmed through the tunnel, then left the house to retrieve what was desired before coming back. After finding this secret, he returned to the house, then the hallway that the employee apartments were on; even though he was furious over this discovery, and what it meant, he went to see what the voices belonged to.

"Bastards deserved what they got. No sympathy from me will be given—the house was boarded up, and safe to live in, then they went and made it not safe. If not for the risk of getting UA-1, my son and I would leave then never return." ShaamVile thought.

Before entering the room, he listened to the voices that were in it. He detected five, and not all of them were adult. If he had to make any guesses, the two maids who were yet to be tracked down were in it; while he hoped to find them with just the tv on a little too loud, he knew better than to believe this. When he grasped and then turned the doorknob, he braced himself for what he'd find. Once the door was opened, and he was in the room, the voices stopped being heard. It grew quiet; the sense of alertness was very present. After walking down the foyer's short hallway, then rounding the corner, he stopped then growled.

"Mr. Surfeit...!" the maid who turned to being very shut-off from everyone said after seeing him. From what he was seeing, she was healthy.

"What's he doing here?" the other maid, who seemed to prefer to be left alone, asked. Like the other maid, she looked to be healthy.

The two women were on the couch. The tv was on, but it was silent. The table, that sat between it and the couch, was surrounded on three sides by three children of various ages; the oldest child was a teenager, while the other two were around Duru's age. Before he could say or do anything, he heard the sound of a baby crying—it took him two guesses to assume that there were more than just five in the room after hearing it. After seeing this near-normal sight, he nodded his head then left the room. The maid who changed her demeanor thirty-seven years ago followed behind him; even though she followed him, she didn't touch him.

"Sir, I apologize for doing it but, believe me, I had to do it. I couldn't just let them wander the streets, or be parentless." the maid said.

"You had your reason, as did the rest of your co-workers, in disobeying my instruction in being housebound. Now, you'll receive the fruits of it." ShaamVile replied after leaving the room, then going up the hallway. While on the hallway, he saw his shoes in one of the rooms; instead of stopping to retrieve them, he walked on to where the stairs, and then door, were.

"Sir!" the maid said.

She was about to grab him when he took off. While he was slow during the start of a run—he grew to being too tall too fast, which hindered him in being fast from the onslaught—, he was fast enough to get away from her. After leaping over the two maids who were in the hallway, he tore up the stairs then crashed into the door. Once he was in the house's main part, he slammed the door shut then locked it.

The concern of UA-1 being on him wasn't able to grab him. Right now, he was concerned over it seeping in through the door's cracks. He went to where the bigger kitchen was, then tore its table and chairs up before returning to where the employee quarters were; all while the maid pounded on the door, and pled her innocence over bringing orphans into the house, he nailed the pieces of wood before the door. The maid questioned him twice, then started screaming after realizing that he was closing her off from the rest of the house—she kicked the door twice, then pounded on it, before trying to run into it; all while she did this, he placed boards before it. He neither spoke to her or gave her a word of concern or care—as he said earlier, she bought her fate when she and her co-workers decided to leave the house.

"You won't be taking me or my son to the grave with you." ShaamVile said after bringing the roll of plastic to the door, then rigging it over it for double security over the disease not getting in.

He used the entire roll before stepping back to give his work a look. The maid was still on its other side, and was still talking, but was now no longer pleading her innocence. She was calling him the worst employer ever, and someone who deserved to get what her co-workers got; if not for the door being well boarded and plastic contained, he would of ripped it open to dish out the melody of all slaps to her. With the door being roped off, and the disease contained, he turned to go upstairs—with what he just went through, and saw, he wanted to be with his son but, thanks to his being around it, he had to wash himself to ensure that he was clean of contamination.

"Bastards better not of caused it to get into the house, or enter me or Duru's body. I'll breathe fire on you if you have, I swear to the Gods I will." ShaamVile said after reaching a bathroom, then disrobing and getting in the shower.


End file.
